Mother Dearest
by nigerutmea anima
Summary: "Harry Potter was just a pawn in another person's game.  And for him to survive, he must have someone to look out for him.  It was a sign of just how desperate the situation was that Bellatrix was the best candidate."  AU fic where Bellatrix raises Harry; rated for violence/language
1. Chapter 1

**I unfortunately own nothing that you recognize. Almost everything in here belongs to JK Rowling.**

The peace of the night is broken only by a gust of feeble wind, playing gently with a few stray leaves. A few last-minute shoppers hurry home, and from the weak overhead lights a shopkeeper can be seen, eager to finish his routine chores and return to his family, who no doubt waits upstairs in the tiny flat above the store. The littlest is silhouetted in the single, shabby window, fighting a losing battle against her drooping eyelids as she again counts the night's candy spoils. An elderly man removes his own bowl of candy from the porch with a last look into the darkness.

"Rabble rousers," he mutters angrily, recalling what had once been a finely carved pumpkin before a couple of teenagers had come along and smashed it in the street. Further down the lonely street, a baby's shrieks shatter the quiet, and a young wife rushes in to comfort it with a sleepy smile. The leaves pick up in tempo, dancing to a song only they knew the rhythm to. Whoosh. Faster now. Whoooooosh. Desperately, they circle, twirl, defending their territory. Whoooooooooosh. Silence.

In the last house on the street a pretty woman puts her young son to bed. Her husband sweeps aside his messy black hair and sits down to finish writing a letter to someone named Sirius Black before he, too, joins his wife and child.

Whoooosh. Out of the darkness steps twenty cloaked figures, blocking out what little moonlight had made it through the cloudy night. The tallest approaches, seeming to relish every step he takes closer to the house. "Rookwood, Avery, Macnair, Crabbe, Goyle, patrol the grounds. Yaxley, set the Muggle-repelling charms." The high-pitched voice issues commands casually, well-used to power and respect, if not definite fear. His companions obey, not even needing his instruction. Their jobs are routine. They have done this before. Seamlessly, his orders are carried out. "Bellatrix, Malfoy, the door. And Snape, Wormtail. You will have the honor of accompanying me into the house. It was on your information, after all, that we are finally triumphant." He makes a mock bow, and Lord Voldemort knocks on the Potters' door.

James Potter had been writing a letter when he heard the doorbell ring. It wasn't a particularly interesting letter; as though Sirius could relate to the unceasing ennui he felt, that followed him about the house like a shadow. Sirius would be engaged in life-threatening combat this very moment, perhaps with his own cousins. God, how Sirius hated them! The whole lot of them! Always had, always would. James smiled to himself as he remembered the summer Sirius had run away to his house. What a summer that had been, playing Quiddich in the orchards, chasing girls down in the village, himself, only half-hearted, never quite able to rid his mind of one Lily Evans. Lost in the memories, James resolved to talk to Dumbledore after he returned from his latest mysterious trip; perhaps a good go under his trusty Cloak was all he needed. With a start, he remembered the bell, and quickly got up to greet his late callers. James approached the door. He hadn't been expecting visitors, but surely Sirius had dropped by on his way to some top secret business for the Order, unaware of the late hour. They would sit and talk for hours, laughing about the miniature broomstick Sirius had sent for Harry's first birthday. Or perhaps Dumbledore himself, come to return his Invisibility Cloak…? He threw the door open wide, an expectant grin on his face….

Voldemort enjoyed himself immensely as he watched the foolish grin slide off of James Potter's face. "This is where the true joy lies," he reflected to himself. "The anticipation, the fear." James recovered and grabbed for his wand. One second too late.

"Lily, Death Eat—" Voldemort's curse cut off his pointless yelling. Two floors above, a scream echoed. Lily Potter was expecting them. Voldemort glided up the stairs, paying no attention to what he was sure was a very thoughtfully chosen decor. Fashionable. A mirthless laugh escaped his throat. He carefully kicked over a precariously stacked pile of books. Soon, it wouldn't matter. He would take what he had come for. Soon….he was tired of waiting. He entered the first room on his right, the disgustingly cheerful yellow paint calming him, as if by some reverse effect. The woman inside turned around. She stood in front of a baby cradle. An unfortunate obstacle.

"Out of my way, you silly girl."

"Please," she begged, silent tears rolling down her face, "please, do with me as you like. I will do anything, I will die, just don't hurt my son." Voldemort crossed the room in two strides, until he was mere inches away from her, her pretty face marred by tears. He relished the absolute power, the power of life or death. This was the moment he had waited for his entire life, the moment he become invincible. But he was a merciful Lord. He would make her a handsome offer, one she could not refuse.

"You need not die. You can live, live to have another family, just leave me the child." Lightning fast, Lily reacted, reaching for the wand behind her back. Voldemort was faster. Lily Potter fell, more gracefully than her husband had, a fierce expression etched on her face, determination to protect her child, a feat she had died doing. But now, the child had no one. His parents could not protect him anymore. Harry Potter opened his eyes and stared into the face of his parents' murderer. Unwilling to break the expectant stillness of the house, whispered the fatal curse. "_Avada Kedavra_.

All hell broke loose.

Bellatrix guarded the door, eagerly waiting for her master's successful return. She tilted her hoodless head up toward the moon and breathed in deeply. This was truly a night to be remembered. The night that her Lord finally killed the Potters, and he wanted to _so_ badly.

She stopped. Something was wrong. The hair on the back of her neck stood straight up, and for a moment, one peaceful moment, all was still.

Then the explosion ripped through the night. Fire erupted from the opposite side of the house and she was flying, soaring into darkness…. When she woke, a second, or an hour later, she barely recognized her surroundings; mass panic had infected those of the faithful still standing upright, and she noted with disgust that several Disapparated on the spot, Malfoy included. Wouldn't want to go and die with a one year old son at home, now would we? Coward. She got to her feet, wincing at her broken ribs. "_Episki_," she muttered, weaving her shattered rib cage back into a recognizable shape in the human anatomy.

Grimly she noticed some of her "friends" lying very still, now just part of the night; the woman must have put up a fight. She dashed inside, barely registering James Potter's corpse, thrown into a corner, his body bent at an impossible angle. Up the stairs, she entered the ruined bedroom, expecting to find her master awaiting her, calm, with traces of contempt as he watched his chosen few scatter across the lawn. But this was not the scene that greeted Bellatrix Lestrange when she strode into Harry Potter's much-abused bedroom, as her master had done only minutes before. Ignoring the crying child in the corner, dangerously close to being consumed by the flames that now claimed his entire house, Bellatrix bent to examine the fallen robes on the ground.

With sharp intake of breath, she realized that something had gone wrong—horribly wrong. Furiously, she turned on the cradle. How dare it lay there, crying, while her Lord was missing? The child would suffer. Somehow, it was responsible, for this night, for everything.

But how to do it? There were so many delicious options. Let the child burn alive, perhaps, or torture it into insanity before ripping it apart? She favored the second approach. But Bellatrix hesitated. Surely the Aurors would be on their way. One glance out the window told her that she was alone now, save Wormtail, who had just blundered into a tree. And the Dark Lord had so wanted to kill the child in person…he would not be happy with her. With a crack her cousin appeared and a second later, Wormtail disappeared. The child would have to wait. For the first time in her life, Bellatrix fled.…

She reappeared a second later, on a street called Privet Drive. All she needed was to find her master, destroy whatever magic bound him. He would not have left her there of his own free will, she was sure… But first, Harry Potter would have to be hidden. Hands slightly trembling, she cast a simple Transfiguration spell. Harry's hair shrunk into neat blonde wisps, his eyes reshaped themselves, his scar disappeared. Even the youngest witch or wizard would be able to detect the rudimentary magic. Which was why the person she needed was neither.

Bellatrix knocked once on the door, its peeling green paint speaking to the nature of its inhabitant. Mrs. Figg opened the door. "Why, Miss Bellatrix, such a surprise, such an honor!"

"Here." Bellatrix thrust Harry in her face. "The Malfoys' son. His mother is needed. I will return for him soon." Bellatrix assumed an expression suitable to having been assigned to play babysitter for her nephew. Warily, Mrs. Figg took the child. "Soon…?"

But Bellatrix had disappeared into the night.


	2. Chapter 2

As it turns out, though, Bellatrix and Mrs. Figg had very different definitions of the word "soon". Three hours later, a very cross Arabella Figg was pacing back and forth across her living room. Harry/Draco was in the back room, asleep. No, it wasn't the child that was the problem, poor thing, Mrs. Figg thought crossly. It was _that woman, _barging into her house at such an hour, no concern whatsoever for her evening plans. But a lowly Squib didn't count for much, not with the Death Eaters. And she didn't dare defy them, not in these dark times. She would have to content herself with sending a letter out to Dumbledore first thing tomorrow morning. Peering into the sitting room, she watched Draco/Harry sleep peacefully in a small nest of blankets. Poor darling needed all the rest it could get. To have that for a mother! Well, Narcissa was better than her sister any day. It was small consolation for Bellatrix's crimes that nature had not gifted her with a child-as if she would want to care for one, anyway- but Mrs. Figg was happy knowing that she had saved this child from even three hours in the care of a woman whose heart was blacker than her name. And indeed, if Mrs. Figg had known where Bellatrix had gone, in one desperate last attempt to locate her master, she would never have relinquished Harry or saved her letter for morning. As it was, though, it did not come into Mrs. Figg's knowledge until much too late that she was helping Bellatrix to commit the crimes she would live in infamy for.

_Crack_. Bellatrix appeared on the very doorstep of the small, two bedroom townhouse, accompanied by her husband and a few others. She didn't bother to knock.

"_Diffindo_!" she screamed, and the door rocketed backward, shattering a glass display cabinet. She then turned on the couple standing on the opposite side of the room, wands raised. Bellatrix stalked forward, ready to pounce. "_Reducto_." The curse shot right at the rather plump woman, who dove aside. Missing the woman, the curse hit the ceiling about halfway between the couple, causing a mess of wood and plaster to rain down upon the unprepared group, separating Frank and Alice Longbottom. Bellatrix had hit her mark. Slowly, she circled her challenger. Frank Longbottom was a wiry, hardened man whose face boasted clearly that he had before encountered the Death Eaters and lived to tell the tale. His luck ended here.

Grinning maliciously, the light from the shattered ceiling lamp glinting in her eyes, she had a distinctly feline appearance. "Shame, really. You are about to die. And your lovely wife, too." He glanced involuntarily toward the pile of rubble that would serve as his last glimpse of his wife. Bellatrix struck. "_Petrificus totalus_!" Frank Longbottom's limbs sprang together, his joints locked. "You will wish for the sweet release of death before I am done here, Frank," she whispered softly, "but there are so many worse things than the fate of the body." Deliberately, she stepped on his wand, breaking it clean in two. "Tell me what I want to know, Frank. Tell me, and I might just kill you and spare you from this next part. Tell me where my master is, and your son can live." Intentionally looking directly into the paralyzed man's eyes, she pressed her advantage. "Poor little Neville. Children don't hold up well against the Cruciatus Curse. But I have learned from past experience. Always perform the Silencing Charm before you begin." She laughed. "What's wrong? Cat got your tongue?" He would talk eventually. But first…

_Reducto_." She blasted a hole in the wall that now divided the Longbottom's house in half, revealing Alice Longbottom, bound and gagged, with three Death Eaters surrounding her. "Now we can begin." And, pointing her wand back at the iron-willed Auror, she shouted, "_Crucio_!"

Frank Longbottom had always enjoyed his profession. Dangerous, difficult, and with a depressingly low success rate nowadays, the job of an Auror appealed to very few. But even in his days back at Hogwarts, when Frank had stuck up for the first years against particularly brutal hazing, he had known that he was destined to protect people, to defend the helpless, to keep his community safe. And now he could not even protect his family. Every nerve in his body screamed in pain - Bellatrix was a true master at inflicting it-but his thoughts were with his wife, whom he could hear in the distance, screaming his name through her own tears. But she must not cry. She was flooding the whole house with her tears; now he heard her as if underwater. Black spots, no, shapes danced before him. "You failed," they chanted, "you failed, and now your family will pay the price." He was not in control, or even aware of, his flailing body, flapping like a fish out of water. They say that before you die, your life flashes before your eyes. Frank's screen-shots were more selective—the day Alice had dumped him for the captain of the Quiddich team, the day he had failed his first Auror exam, the day his parents died-and Frank saw no more.

It took every ounce of concentration that Bellatrix possessed to torture Frank Longbottom into insanity. To maintain a Silence Charm—she released the Body Bind as soon as he had become incapacitated with pain—as well as perform the Cruciatus Curse twenty-seven times, mixed with a good deal of Occlumency to enhance the pain, was no mean feat. And when she became bored, she inflicted deep, bloody gashes on poor Frank Longbottom's face and neck—all for visual effect. To her victim, the sting would be swallowed up by the Cruciatus Curse, but to Alice Longbottom, the ragged wound pattern told a story of untold suffering. She scoffed internally. Torture was not just a fact of life to Bellatrix. It was art, more beautiful than Picasso or Michelangelo, painted in blood instead of pastels. She herself bore the marks of her master's rage. Voldemort had taught her well, and now there was scarcely anything left for her to learn.

A hour and a half later, Bellatrix ceased her barrage of curses and paused. Slightly flushed, she approached Frank Longbottom, sensing the change; where before had stood a brave, determined, albeit foolish, man now laid his shell. "Release her." The others obeyed without question. One did not question Bellatrix when she was like this. Just watching the carnage had been painful. Rodolphus had actually passed out around the one hour mark. She had accidentally hit an artery, and Frank's body had spasmed…. Now all three looked down in disgust on Bellatrix's handiwork. She turned her back on the scene. She was satisfied. Now, Alice Longbottom cradled her husband's bleeding head, his raw wounds giving his face the appearance of dragon's meat, though without the sickly green color. Any color at all had been drained from Frank's face; now it was a deathly white, and Alice struggled to find her husband inside this…corpse. As he opened his eyes, her ragged sobs caught in her throat, but the man she loved stared through her, uncomprehending, unseeing, unloving, forevermore.

With a lazy flick, Bellatrix summoned Alice's wand, just as she had been reaching to curse her into oblivion. "Silly girl." Bellatrix echoed her master, her voice losing its coaxing tone and instead becoming harsh. "Do you not now know what we are capable of? You have a son, I believe. Tell me what I need to know. No? _Crucio_!" Alice Longbottom was thrown away from her husband's side and plunged into her own nightmare….

When Mrs. Figg opened the door for the second time that night, she screamed in horror. Bellatrix, as promised, stood there, covered in blood that was most certainly not her own. "Where…?" In response, a gash laced itself across her cheek. "Do not ask me unnecessary questions, Squib. Where is the child?" Mrs. Figg, about ready to explode with anger, bustled into the back, ignoring her cut cheek until her house was once again free of monsters. Bellatrix invited herself in. And she saw the letter in the corner, already addressed to Hogwarts. A flick of her wand ensured that it would never reach its destination. Mrs. Figg returned holding Harry, reluctant to let him pass into her hands. Dumbledore must never know. "_Obliviate_!" Mrs. Figg's eyes slid out of focus. Bellatrix removed Harry from the arms of a slightly bemused Mrs. Figg and stepped into thin air.


	3. Chapter 3

Trying to hold her concentration, the image of her master's fallen robes persistently surfacing in her mind, Bellatrix struggled against the compressed air surrounding her. Distant shadow danced, gleefully, across her field of vision, and then she was falling….

_Crack_. Bellatrix materialized on the steps to Number Twelve Grimmauld Place. Staggering to regain her balance, she almost collapsed, as every nerve exploded. She put her hand to her side and gasped as blood soaked through her fingers. Shit. _Crack_. Bellatrix heard the blood rush to her head and a distant muttering. She fell….

She awoke by a merrily crackling fire in a bed that was not her own. Sitting straight up, she doubled over again, wincing at her side, which had once again started to bleed. Groaning, she laid back down. "_Accio_ wand," she gasped. But her wand did not come. Instead, a person answered her summons.

"So glad to see you awake again, Bellatrix," said a dry, sarcastic voice.

"Damn it Snape, where is my wand?" Bellatrix scowled as a darkly cloaked man strode in, holding his own wand -which was pointed at her - and another. He smiled. She was certain that even her previous night's activities didn't warrant enough bad karma for this.

"Don't strain yourself, there." He was enjoying himself immensely. "You will be sore for a while." Bellatrix barely suppressed a groan as another sharp pain flashed across her side. "I think I did a pretty good job with the bandages, myself." Bellatrix looked down to see that her side had indeed been neatly bandaged. The realization hit her. She clenched her hands, her eyes flashing dangerously as Snape chuckled. "Don't worry, I shut my eyes."

"Give. Me. My. Wand," she managed through clenched teeth. "And get the hell out of my house," she added, finally realizing where she was.

"Your family's house," he corrected. "And I don't think I am going to give your wand back yet. I want to make sure that I'm a safe distance away, first." Still chuckling, he left, and Bellatrix, succumbing to the waves of pain washing over her, sank back into a deep sleep.

When she woke up for a second time, Bellatrix was alone. "Snape!" she yelled. "Get in here. I know you're out there." No response. She dragged herself out of bed and into the living room. And froze, in spite of the pain. Snape was sitting there, cradling a sleeping Harry, looking down upon the child with an expression of deep regret. Bellatrix stumbled and caught herself on the door frame, but it was too late. Snape's head snapped up, and wordlessly he got up to help her across the room. In response, she spat in his direction. Snape took the hint and reclaimed his seat.

Fifteen minutes later, Bellatrix had managed to limp over and position herself as far away as possible from the man sitting opposite, eyeing him with distrust. "Bellatrix…," he began.

"What did you do?" she snapped.

"What?" Now he was confused.

"To the Dark Lord. To protect that…that beast. Don't try to play games with me, Snape. I was watching you. This is your fault, all of this!" Her voice steadily rose in volume until she was screaming at him. "All this time, you were working with Dumbledore. Take the child, then. Take it, and kill me, too. Because when I get my wand back, I will _certainly_ kill you. Frank Longbottom can count himself blessed compared to the pain you will feel."

Snape remained calm, impassive. "I did not kill the Dark Lord, Bella. He did that to himself," Bellatrix let out a snarl, but he continued, "and wherever he is now, he is most certainly not dead. Look at the Mark. It is lying dormant, yes, but it will one day reactivate, whether that be in a month, or a year." He paused and looked at her, unsure of what to say next. "This child means nothing to me. I would kill it now. But you know as well as I that when the Dark Lord returns, he will want his revenge on little Harry Potter, and I do not intend to take his place, should he have mysteriously disappeared. However….I am undecided as to what to do with it. Obviously it has to stay out of possession of the Order, or Dumbledore himself, for that matter, but Death Eaters are being rounded up by the dozen, and I am too far in to take him. It would be suspicious. And I cannot flee, not if I hope to retain my _highly lucrative_ position at Dumbledore's right hand, learning information no one else could gather." Bellatrix thought that she knew where this conversation was going, and she didn't like it one bit. "Bella, after the fiasco at the Longbottoms, you have to stay underground—"

She cut him off, "I am no coward—"

"You are a fool! The Aurors have orders to kill you on sight. You shall do your master no good dead. I cannot take the child. But you could. Just a month or two."

Bellatrix laughed cruelly, its harsh sound echoing in the drafty room. "If that's what all this is about, you can save your breath. Give it to my sister. Or to anyone else, for that matter."

"You know very well why Narcissa can't do this. Her house is being watched. And I think that you will. You see, I still have your wand. And I think you shall find it difficult to take care of yourself in that condition. I shall help you. Only if you keep Harry Potter alive."

Bellatrix emitted a noise somewhere between a growl and a hiss. "Goddamn it Snape, just heal me! I'll take care of the brat afterwards."

"I'm sure you will. No, I think it will be much more fun this way."

Snape strode out the door of Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place, firmly grasping two wands, amid an array of very creative language. He had no idea what he was getting himself into with Bellatrix. However, at least he seemed to know that much.


	4. Chapter 4

Snape kept his word. He returned the next day with a potion of his own creation for the pain, and found Harry still breathing, though unfortunately lying in the middle of the hallway, crying at the top of his lungs. Snape sent a letter to Dumbledore stating that emergency family problems would occupy him for the next week or so, with his deepest apologies for the late notice. This could take a while. By Wednesday, Harry had almost made it all the way to his crib before Bellatrix had become frustrated and dropped him on his head. Sweet progress! On Friday, he entered the house to… silence. However, he was only able to congratulate himself on the success after running into Harry's room to make sure that he was, in fact, still alive. And Monday, Bellatrix forgot to glare at him when she opened the door. But by the next Wednesday, he could wait no longer. He must return to Hogwarts, or risk raising the suspicion of its headmaster.

Wednesday evening he found himself once again standing on the doorstep of Number Twelve Grimmauld Place. With Mundungus Fletcher. He was still very much glad that he held two wands and his reluctant charge none; even so, he was not sure if he would be able to keep serious harm from befalling the poor man standing next to him, blissfully unaware of the challenge that awaited him.

Even before she opened the door, Snape could hear her. "What the hell took you so long, I –" At this moment, several thing happened in quick succession. Bellatrix opened the door, Mundungus screamed and tried to Disapperate, but failed, due to a charm that Snape had wisely foreseen to use, and Bellatrix slammed the door shut again.

"Bella, open the door."

"No."

"Bellatrix, don't be childish, open the door."

"This wasn't the deal, Snape."

"Do you want food, or not?"

"I would rather die than let that filth profane the halls of my ancestors!" she hissed.

Snape sighed. Just when he thought he had been making progress. "_Reducto_," he murmured, and the door obligingly removed itself as an obstacle.

Snape swept past a glaring Bellatrix to the kitchen, and began the task of stocking the pantry for the next week, hoping very much that neither would kill the other while he was gone, as Mundungus had been allowed to keep his wand. That was when he heard the scream and a bang. Dropping his brown paper bag (and feeling very much like a soccer mom as he did so), Snape raced down the hallway to find Mundungus lying on the floor, bleeding out from a severed carotid artery. He swore and knelt down to heal him. A minute later, he opened his eyes to find Bellatrix lying in the next room over, knocked unconscious by a misfired spell. Rolling his eyes (and debating very much as to whether he shouldn't just leave her in this happily conscious-less state), Snape muttered, "_Ennervate_!" Bellatrix woke up.

"Give me the knife." Wordlessly, she passed him a wicked six inch blade with a slender black handle.

"Is he dead?"

Snape ignored her and returned to shelving groceries. A half an hour later, Snape managed to persuade Mundungus to sit with them in the kitchen. Bellatrix, occupied though she was with her soup, still managed to enjoy the fearful glances. "I am returning to Hogwarts tonight," Snape said, breaking the tense silence. A rather rude slurp was all the response he got. "Don't worry; I will bring food on the weekends." She shot him a disgusted glance and resumed eating. "Mundungus here will be visiting you from time to time." Bellatrix dropped her spoon, making an unpleasant clanging noise.

" You know that I'm just going to kill him, right?"

"The deal in regard to Harry? It applies to him, too."

"You really care what happens to this vermin? When the Dark Lord rises again, I shall have the pleasure of ridding the world of this scum."

"No, I do not particularly care what happens to him. But I do need someone to check up on you, and his death would be… mysterious. Seeing as you are hiding out in caves in the mountains. Or at least that is what I'm telling Dumbledore." She made a rude hand gesture. He sighed. "Well, now that we're all acquainted…."

Mundungus was half-way to the door before he had even finished his sentence. "Oh, and I'd almost forgot. I brought books."

"Books?"

"Yes, you read them, you see, and –". He was interrupted b y Bellatrix, who threw another knife at him, faster than previously believed possible. He laughed as he turned it into a small garden snake. "See you next weekend, Bellatrix," he called down the hallway, opening the door and stepping into the frigid night air.

"Bring something better than books next time!" she shouted after him.


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N I changed a couple minor details from cannon. In this story, Ted-Tonks is a Muggle, not a Muggle-born, and Bellatrix is about 25 when this story starts, though I know she's actually much older in the books.**

Confined as she was to the house, Bellatrix spent a good deal of time over the next week glaring at walls, firmly refusing to read Snape's pile of books. But after four days, she broke down. Besides, he never had to know. Ten pages into the first volume, it was evident from the scrawling notes in the margins that they were from his personal collection. Most were highly uninteresting –complicated potions or corrections on the author's point-of-view. But, deep into the pile, in a book so old that it seemed to date back to his years at Hogwarts, she found a rather promising design. In an upper right-hand corner, "L.E." was doodled, with an absent-minded heart around it. Bellatrix wavered between disgust and laughter.

Mundungus did stop by every third day; it always amused her to see him carefully enter (without his wand, lest she overpower him and take it) edging toward Harry's bedroom. Sometimes she would hide and jump out at him, causing him to bolt for the door. More often than not, he had some injury upon leaving that he had not possessed before coming—though she later swore with a barely straight face that Mundungus must just be extraordinarily clumsy. However, for some unfathomable reason, he kept coming. (She did not learn until much later that, after a particularly enthusiastic night of drinking, Snape had happened upon him, and coerced him into making the Unbreakable Vow to come and visit his "sick friend". He had no choice but to continue the unpleasant visits.)

Harry was, well, a child. Motherhood did not come easily to Bellatrix, and she was firmly resisting it. Some days she forgot—or chose— not to feed him altogether, and she would wake up in the middle of the night, feeling slightly guilty without knowing why. She didn't like it.

On the other hand, one can't spend twenty-three hours a day alone with another person without forming some kind of attachment—for Bellatrix, Harry was like a pet dog that she had pledged to watch for a weekend while a friend was out of town. Basically, make sure it didn't die—no more and no less. Sometimes, when she was _really_ bored, she would wander into his room and watch him sleep. Once, while contemplating why she was stuck in this hellhole, she picked him up and fell asleep. When she woke up, her arms were rather wetter than they should be, and, after quickly replacing Harry in his crib, she spent the rest of the day in the attic, torturing rats.

Snape spent the weekends at Grimmauld Place, a time that Bellatrix involuntarily found herself looking forward to. She enjoyed taunting him about the mysterious L. E. and also her break from feeding Harry (although unluckily for him, it usually meant that she forgot to on Monday.) There was also a small part of her that liked the break from the constant silence that followed her around the large, empty house every day. However, Snape was not at all happy to find the state of Mundungus' face and arms, or the large pile of grotesquely contorted rats behind his bed (where Bellatrix had thoughtfully left them), and after a month limited his visits to only Sundays.

Another benefit of the weekends was a fresh supply of reading material and the occasional Daily Prophet. Bellatrix finished the first stack fairly quickly after deciding that she was not so offended at her present condition as to ignore them. She learned several new curses, and a few _very_ nasty potions. She also learned that Snape had not been lying when he advised her to stay underground. Death Eaters' recent capture and imprisonment were the favorite topic in the newspapers, and she took a kind of grim pleasure in reading about the ones that had landed themselves a life sentence in Azkaban-especially her husband.

Snape had come one weekend with a newspaper and passed it across the table. "I think you will enjoy this one," he had said with a thin smile. Rodulphus was convicted of torturing the Longbottoms—the Aurors had arrived just minutes after she herself had left to pick up Harry—although, "every effort was being made to locate and capture his mad wife, Bellatrix Lestrange, who has avoided capture by hiding out in a succession of caves in the Swiss Alps." There was also a quote from Lucius Malfoy (who had avoided imprisonment through a mixture of bribery and threats, it seemed) saying that he very much pitied his sister-in-law, but, "she is a danger to society and to herself, and I, along with the rest of the Wizarding community, eagerly await her capture."

Bellatrix made a mental note to kill him later.

Snape smirked. "Lucius, my slippery friend, with all of your underhand connections and political maneuvering, you have made only one mistake." Bellatrix growled and buried a knife –part of a seemingly never ending supply—four inches into the table. Snape pretended not to notice.

Two months passed, then three. Bellatrix's side healed, without magical aid, and she was required by necessity to undergo a type of physical therapy in order to regain full motion in her left arm. And Snape grew worried. If she had seemed out of hand when she was barely able to walk, he dreaded a Bellatrix with full run of the house. She would find out sooner or later that Voldemort wouldn't be returning in a month, or a year. Snape knew that she must take care of Harry, and keep him away from everyone; from Dumbledore, who would have sent Harry to live with his Muggle aunt and uncle, from the Order, to whom Harry was just another tool, and most certainly from the Death Eaters, who would kill him as soon as look at him.

Harry Potter was just a pawn in another person's game. And for him to survive, he must have someone to look out for him. It was a sign of just how desperate the situation was that Bellatrix was the best candidate. But she was leaving nothing behind; going underground with no strings attached was exactly what Harry's new guardian would need to do. And the fact that she was a young woman, who could easily look after him without attracting suspicion… things had worked out perfectly in that respect for Snape. Now all he needed was to test the plan he had been developing for three months. But doing so would involve the one thing he had been trying to avoid at all costs. He would have to give Bellatrix Lestrange a wand.


	6. Chapter 6

**Thank you so much to all of you who have reviewed so far. I really do appreciate all of your comments! **

But Bellatrix couldn't have known Snape's plan as she sat, very alone, on the front step of Grimmauld Place. Leaving the house was strictly against "the rules", but it would be at least an hour before Snape arrived. Three months of nothingness had taken their toll on her, and she loathed feeling powerless, useless. But there was no foreseeable end to the madness. She was confined to boredom and loneness for six days a week, ever since what was now sarcastically referred to as "the Mundungus incident".

Mundungus was not a particularity bright wizard, nor Bellatrix a patient one. In each other they had each found a bitter enemy in the other, Mundungus hating his obligation to visit her, and Bellatrix hating her obligation not to kill him. But beyond those terms of agreement, there were no rules. Bellatrix, constantly bored, found a source of…enjoyment in Mundungus. Sometimes she would spend hours devising elaborate plans on how to best terrorize/injure him, or usually a combination of the two. Mundungus, on the other hand, lived his life in constant fear of returning to Grimmauld Place, the setting of his most graphic nightmares. The name was enough to send shivers down his spine, and once he had been unfortunate enough to be within earshot of the Auror headquarters during a …delicate job. One mention of Bellatrix's name by Kingsley Shacklebolt was enough to make him abandon the heist and promise to never return.

But still, he was obligated by his Vow to continue to come. To Bellatrix's great delight. All the time in the world couldn't have foiled some of her more ingenious plans, and all without magic! This particular day, she had covered herself in blood – donated most unwillingly by Mundungus at various points the preceding week—and laid very still, waiting. An hour passed before the door handle finally turned and the front door creaked open, revealing a cowering Mundungus. Tip-toeing into the house, he waited for her next attack, determined to stop her this time. He had come prepared with a knife of his own. Slinking down the hallway (the very, very long hallway), he poked his head into Harry's room to make sure he was still alive. All was well. In fact, though Mundungus hadn't known it at the time, Bellatrix had been quite pleasant to Harry that day, as she had been eagerly anticipating the perfect execution of her scheme.

"Bellatrix?" he called out nervously. No response. Never a good sign. He inched into the living room and stopped dead. There, in the middle of the floor, lay Bellatrix, clearly dead, covered in blood. Though not too disheartened by the loss, he hesitated. Suppose Snape should blame him somehow? Approaching the corpse, he decided to at least clean her up before Snape arrived. Ease the loss. Wondering vaguely who it was that he had to thank, Mundungus leaned over to shut her eyes, happily contemplating a life without Bellatrix. That was when her eyes moved. They looked right at him. And a smile spread over her pale face. The knife flashed out, glinting in triumph….

Mundungus was not a happy camper. And this time, Snape would know. He Disapparated for Hogwarts that very night. Requesting Snape in person, he had stood in the Great Hall for over an hour, concerned looks following him everywhere. After forty-five minutes, word had spread, and a small crowd had gathered, staring at him, wondering. Perhaps it was the large, ragged hole where his eye should have been. Snape, blessed as he was with extraordinary intelligence, gathered immediately what the problem was. Mundungus was released from his Vow and his eye was tended to by Madame Pompfrey, who had never _in her life_ seen magic inflict a wound like that—for Snape had not seen fit to tell her that a small black dagger was probably the source of the damage.

Enjoying the last beams of sunlight before she was again confined to the house, Bellatrix breathed in deeply –and froze. There was a slight disturbance in the air. Magic. Not Snape; by now, she knew his style. Someone else. Getting quickly to her feet, she turned to the door –but instinctively knew she would be too late. She could hide no longer. Someone had finally come. Out of the shadows stepped a cloaked figure. But he knew nothing, yet. She would have to bluff. Bellatrix retook her seat.

"I see you haven't lost your intuition, Bellatrix," said a short man, with a slight incline of his head

"Yaxley." Bellatrix mimed stifling a yawn. "What brings you here?"

He smiled rather sinisterly. "You, I'm afraid. We thought perhaps the Aurors…"

She laughed derisively. "Me?! You thought me in Azkaban, or perhaps worse? Things must be bad if your informants couldn't even provide you with that much."

"Our informant was…mistaken. By a Memory Charm. Quite a strong one, I might add." He looked at her suspiciously.

Bellatrix had to admire Snape's thoroughness. "Well, you've found me, hiding out in the Swiss Alps," she said sarcastically.

Yaxley did not laugh. "I must admit, I'm surprised to find you staying here. I would have thought that you would have at least left the country after the Longbottoms." He gave her a small smile of appreciation.

It was now time to take a gamble. If Bellatrix told the truth, or at least part of it, she could gain herself a wand, and perhaps even information. On the other hand…

Bellatrix proceeded with false hesitancy. This would require some delicacy. "The truth is that I'm not here by choice. The Longbottoms put up a fight. My wand was broken. With half of the Wizarding community out to arrest me and the other half prepared to kill me on the spot, I came to the only place I could think of. I've been here for three months, sitting around all day, doing nothing." The bitterness with which she said that last part did not have to be faked.

Yaxley's laugh this time was genuine. "To think that the great Bellatrix Lestrange, sitting at home for three months, didn't even trust her friends to procure a wand for her!" He scrutinized her for a reply.

"You know as well as I do that something went wrong at the Potters. I thought a snitch. I couldn't trust anyone." He seemed satisfied by her response.

"Well, as I have been one of the blessed few able to secure a job at the Ministry, I will certainly see to it that you get a wand. In the meantime, this uneventful little chat is the result of two days of searching, much of which I personally headed. If you wouldn't mind, a Butterbeer, or Firewhiskey if you have it, would be quite welcome."

"You know, the funny thing about being a prisoner in your own house for three months is that you have very few opportunities to stock up on _Butterbeer_. You get one once I have a wand and can safely enter the Three Broomsticks looking like someone other than myself."

"Well, in that case, I would be curious to see where you have spent the last three months." Yaxley threw wide the door to Number Twelve Grimmauld Place and strode in. Bellatrix had no choice but to follow.

The interior showed clear signs of abuse that Bellatrix hadn't noticed before. The floor, once so pristine, was now littered with crumpled up sheets of paper and broken quills. Bellatrix winced as Yaxley noticed the bloodstain on the rug where Mundungus had lost his eye. "Keeping busy, I see," he commented, but let the subject drop.

Entering the kitchen, Yaxley took a seat at the table, an expectant look on his face, and Bellatrix heated the kettle for tea. She despised tea. She hated the confounded teapot, and had never made tea for anyone in her life. She would have sooner killed her guest. But now she didn't have much of a choice. She needed Yaxley to be happily occupied, and not curiously snooping around her house, where he might find things more objectionable to him than an old bloodstain.

"Tea, Bellatrix? How… civil." With a rather severe look, Bellatrix swept out of the kitchen and into Harry's room. She stopped. The child was sitting up, staring straight at her with wide, intelligent eyes, unaware of the danger that lurked around the corner. She considered killing him. A whisper across his throat. She could not risk Yaxley finding him. But instead, she held a finger to her lips, her eyes pleading with him not move, not to breathe, lest Yaxley hear. Crossing the room, she found what she had been looking for. A row of knives, sharp and polished, lay neatly in a small black box. She took them all, and hoped she wouldn't need them.

Returning to the table, Bellatrix cared nothing for the awkward silence that had fallen between them—she was well used to silence by now—but Yaxley was determined to fill it with pointless conversation. "I have contacts inside of Azkaban. Rodulphus will be happy to know that we've found you. I daresay he was worried." Bellatrix narrowed her eyes and locked them on Yaxley, her whole body tensed and ready to spring. "Although," Yaxley continued, laughing, "I don't recall him ever saying that you made him _tea_."

Bellatrix reacted. The dagger cut through air and skin in half a second, too fast for Yaxley to even blink, slicing open his shoulder, an inch from his neck. It was a warning. Wordlessly, Yaxley healed his shoulder and allowed silence to reclaim the area.

That was when Harry began to cry.


	7. Chapter 7

Yaxley slowly turned to stare at Bellatrix, incredulous, thinking back to the last time he had seen her. Could she have been pregnant? Narrowly dodging another knife, he strode with sudden purpose towards the first room on the right. Towards Harry. Another knife bounced off his back, as if repelled by a giant, invisible, rubber shield. Bellatrix longed for her wand, for her power. The only thing she had left was her reputation. And even that, while being good enough to evade Yaxley once, could not save her again.

Yaxley returned. "The child in there is not less than a year and a half old. It cannot be yours." It was not a question. It was a statement.

The mutual enemy inspired a rush of affection toward the child. "He is mine now," Bellatrix snarled.

"Why?"

But Bellatrix did not answer. Yaxley had never seen James Potter; he would not recognize Harry. But he must know that Harry was missing; the Ministry had posted _that_on every street corner. Anyone with half a brain would put two and two together. She was glad, then, that it was Yaxley that had come.

With a look of disgust, Yaxley turned his wand on the defenseless woman standing in front of him. "_Crucio_!" Bellatrix was thrown into a corner, her head smashing into the wall behind her. Through the blood trickling down her face, she glared at Yaxley. Pain was nothing to her anymore. And yet, Yaxley's curse had caused her no more pain than the wall had. It was obvious he had had little practice.

She laughed. "You don't even _want_ to kill me. That was shameful. Leave my house. Now."

Raising his wand again, Yaxley found resolve. "_Crucio_!"

This time, it carried more weight, and Bellatrix closed her eyes and held her breath as pain erupted throughout her entire body. Even after her screaming nerves faded, her hand still shook slightly. Knives would be of no use now. Another spell caused nasty cracking noises to explode from her chest, and looking down, Bellatrix saw three broken ribs fighting to break free from the constraints of her skin. And she realized something. A master of torture could keep their subjects alive as long as possible, extracting every last ounce of pain before finally granting the sweet release of death. Yaxley was a novice; he could not control his spells. And soon, one would get away from him…. Pain was nothing, but from death there was no escape.

A fractured skull and a pint of blood later, Yaxley gave up on Bellatrix. Wondering how she had managed to stay conscious, he reconsidered his strategy – and turned to face Harry. Bellatrix groaned faintly, the first noise she had made in almost half an hour.

"No."

It was Yaxley now who smiled. "No? Bellatrix I do not understand your connection to this child, but if he means anything to you, tell me who he is. How you got him. Why you are looking after him."

Unwilling to condemn them _both_ to death, Bellatrix once again declined to speak. "Very well…." But before Yaxley could utter even one spell to harm Harry, something that neither of them were expecting happened. The door handle turned.

Snape had been debating whether or not to give Bellatrix her wand back. It was a risk, something that Snape did not usually take part in. But he could not keep her locked up in Grimmauld Place forever. He had considered just leaving it on the doorstep, wrapped in a thin white box, like a late Christmas present (though that could hardly equal what she had given him: Mundungus's eyeball, wrapped up deceivingly in a small box), and then then retreating to Hogwarts, where his life wouldn't be in danger. But he had to do this in person. And it was lucky for Bellatrix that he did.

Bellatrix opened her mouth to call out a warning, but suddenly lost her voice. Yaxley, it seemed, was better at Silencing Charms then the Cruciatus Curse. Struggling to move her limbs through the haze that had clouded her vision, she managed to inch her arm around the corner, her hand covered in blood. The effort was enough to make her dizzy, and, sinking lower in the corner, she hoped to God that Snape understood.

Snape realized that something was wrong immediately; the growing puddle of blood seeping around the corner told him that much. What had Bellatrix done now? And then he saw the hand. He recognized it as Bellatrix's at once, and the blood dripping through her fingers, as if she was trying to hold onto it, but could not, told him that whatever had happened here, it was not Bellatrix who had been the one inflicting pain. Snape edged around the corner, wand drawn, and saw Yaxley, whose own wand was pointed at the open doorway. He also saw Bellatrix out of the corner of his eye, slumped onto the floor, her hair and clothes matted with blood, a small smile playing around the corner of her mouth. Then, her eyes closed, and Snape was painfully aware of the blood seeping across the wooden floorboards. Anger flashing in his eyes, Snape clenched his wand more tightly as his stare bore daggers at Yaxley.

"Snape."

"Yaxley."

"Is there anyone else living in this house that I should be aware of? Perhaps the Malfoys, as well? Draco, at least, would have a little friend to play with." Yaxley gestured to Harry, lying on the table behind him, playing with his feet.

Snape let out a humorless laugh as the tension increased. "I doubt Lucius would last long in this house after that lovely interview he gave the Prophet. And Narcissa would most certainly not approve of her sister's actions. In fact, I'm surprised that you managed to find anyone willing to accompany you on this little search party. I didn't realize that Bellatrix had so many loyal friends."

"Don't flatter yourself into thinking that anyone would look for _you_, Snape."

"I like to think that I would be missed at Hogwarts. Dumbledore, of course, wouldn't want to lose his favorite spy." It was a statement, as well as a warning.

"Dumbledore, or course! You and your connections with the Order… what would they say, if they could see you now? Harboring a criminal, none other than Bellatrix Lestrange! Kidnapping a little boy!"

"If you knew who this 'little boy' was, you would understand why he has to stay here. With Bellatrix. You and I are not so different, Yaxley. But you will not win this duel; you would not still be alive now if I hadn't taken Bellatrix's wand three months ago." As he said these words, Snape silently performed an Invisibility Spell on her wand and let it roll over to her body, which still lay motionless on the floor. "She wouldn't be alive, either, if you had managed to break her." Something like pride crept into his voice. "And now, here you are, resorting to torturing an infant. Disgraceful."

The attack Snape had been waiting for finally came, a Body Binding Spell. He dodged it, and sent back a curse of his own, _Sectumsempra_, which narrowly missed Yaxley's head and instead blasted a hole in the wall behind him. Yaxley retaliated with a quick succession of minor jinxes designed to slow him down; all but one missed, and Snape's legs began dancing of their own accord. Quickly muttering the counter-spell, Snape then shot another curse at Yaxley, forcing him to dodge to the right, where he was then ambushed by several books intent on ripping his legs off.

While Yaxley was sufficiently distracted, Snape rushed over to Bellatrix to administer a Blood Replenishing Potion – it would not do for her to bleed out while he fought Yaxley. Letting the potion trickle down her throat, he muttered "_Episki_!" healing her ribs and staunching at least that source of blood. But that last spell was a mistake; having set the unfortunate books ablaze, Yaxley looked up to find Snape hunched over the corner.

"_Petrificus totalus_!" Snape fell, immobilized by the spell.

Bellatrix opened her eyes as Yaxley moved in for the kill.

She felt the smooth wood of a wand – her wand – pressing against her hand. She gripped it, feeling its power course up her arm and throughout her entire body. Her vision suddenly clear, Bellatrix raised her wand for the first time in three months.

"_Avada_ –"

"_REDUCTO_!" Yaxley flew through the air –and the wall—like a rag doll, and crashed into the ceiling of the next room over with a sickening _crunch_. Bellatrix slowly staggered to her feet and approached the body, leaving a trail of blood droplets behind her. Looking down at an unconscious Yaxley, she grinned, a feral smile stretching across her entire face. But she didn't have time for fun. For the first time in three months, Bellatrix had things to do. Reviving Yaxley with a simple "_Ennervate," _Bellatrix stared calmly down at him as his eyes fluttered open. Slowly, deliberately, she stated, "Diffindo!" The Severing Charm was directed at Yaxley's neck, and his head was ripped almost entirely off of his body, hanging by only a few threads.

Levitating Yaxley up to the ceiling, Bellatrix hung him directly above Snape's head, his head lolling grotesquely, a message for anyone who might try to track her. She was not to be trifled with. She stood there, for a moment, enjoying the steady drip of blood into Snape's hair.

He was still conscious, only paralyzed. "This is for the bandages." And Bellatrix stomped down hard on his wand, breaking it in half. "And this is for keeping me here, for _three months_." She brought down her foot again, this time on Snape's arm, breaking that as well.

Packing her bags with a swish of her wand, Bellatrix then picked up a piece of paper and tapped it with her wand, placing it underneath Snape's unbroken arm. Finally, with her bags in one hand and Harry in the other, Bellatrix stepped purposefully over the step of Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place and disappeared.

Two days later, a worried Mundungus Fletcher found Snape lying where Bellatrix had left him, a large puddle of blood pooled around his head. Attempting to think of a plausible excuse for Dumbledore, Snape stiffly sat up and read the note. It read simply, "You owe me." Smiling in spite of the pain, Snape tucked the note into his cloak before he, too, left Grimmauld Place abandoned.


	8. Chapter 8

**Just a reminder, Ted Tonks (Andromeda's husband) is in canon a Muggle-born, but here he is a Muggle, so just don't let that throw you ****.**

**I would also like to thank my AMAZING editor and the person who told me that the deep dark world of fanfiction even existed, Desmothene****, who is currently writing an Alex Rider/NCIS crossover, if anyone is interested in reading that. (I can personally say that it is very, very good.) **

_March, 1985 (a year and a half later)_

The old man looked up from the array of deli sandwiches as the doors to the supermarket slid open to admit the first customers of the day. In walked a young woman and her son, a boy of about five, whose wild black hair stood out every which-way, making it look as though he had just stuck his finger into an electrical outlet. Though the sun had not yet fully risen, the pair briskly strode to the back of the store, the little boy firmly gripping a shopping list. As if by some unspoken signal, they split up, moving efficiently up and down the narrow aisles. It was a strange scene to watch – he, proudly returning to hand off each new item on the list, and she, wordlessly placing them in a small red cart. Barely five minutes had passed before they approached the counter, the child fidgeting nervously. The man stared at the contents of the cart. Present were the typical bread, milk, and eggs, as well as the more unusual fish eyes and octopus tentacles. And sitting on top of it all was the pig carcass that he had been meaning to cut up that morning. He had no idea how they had even lifted it into the cart.

"Do you need help carrying all this out to your car?" he asked kindly.

"No," was the short reply he got.

After finally puzzling out the price for the pig, the old man slowly bagged each item, observing the two out of the corner of his eye. The boy was still fidgeting, as if he didn't often interact with other people. His hair looked as though it had never before seen a comb– it grew in every direction, obscuring his deep brown eyes, the spitting image of his mother's. The woman was much calmer than her jumpy son, her face emotionless, save for slight irritated glances at the amount of time it took to bag their groceries.

He started as he realized that he had stopped bagging altogether and was now just staring. Mumbling an apology, the elderly clerk finally finished just as another woman, sixty years old at least, judging by the hair greying around her temples, entered the store for her weekly groceries. Leaving the boy to take the bags, the younger woman awkwardly gripped the pig, and together, they tromped out the door and into the last snowfall of the season.

The second woman also left the store, though with no bags to show for her journey. Standing stiffly against the brick wall, she watched as the pig began to levitate, and smiled slightly as the little boy was swept under his mother's cloak, protecting him from the elements, as well as any curious onlookers. If the old man looked out of his store, a strange sight would have met his eyes as the old woman's hair grew longer, and a silver beard grew from her chin, both reaching "her" waist. The nose also grew longer and crooked, and with a pop, the old woman's shabby Muggle clothing was replaced by deep blue wizard's robes, complete with a pointy hat. Where before had been an elderly woman now stood Albus Dumbledore, catching a last glimpse of his quarry before they rounded a corner and disappeared. "A strange pair, certainly," he mused to himself. This was the culmination of several years of searching. He had known all along, though, that Harry Potter's guardian could take care of him or herself. He only needed to find out who it was. And standing in the swirling wind outside of a tiny Muggle supermarket, Dumbledore watched his absolute last guess lead away the Boy Who Lived.

Bellatrix gratefully stepped out of the wind and into the small cottage, positioned right on the waterfront in the south of France. Stomping off her boots, she slammed the door behind her as she thought of the Muggle supermarket. But it was too dangerous to rejoin the Wizarding World, and blending into a community was worth a hundred Invisibility Cloaks. With a flick of her wand, a roaring fire jumped to life in the stone fireplace, flooding the entire four room house with warmth.

Hermit's landing, as the cottage had been dubbed by the townspeople, was not an ideal vacation destination. Located just outside of the small town of Anglet, it had previously been owned by "Old Man Higgins", a mad old recluse that recently passed away unexpectedly, leaving his home and all of his possessions to his daughter and grandson, who showed up just in time to claim it, despite the fact that no one had even been aware of their existence. Bellatrix had high hopes for this latest in a series of residences. At the very reaches of the Ministry's power, they had been living comfortably there for almost a month. And no "accidents" yet.

Their last home, a townhouse in Wales, had had to be vacated after a government official had mistaken Harry for his own child while walking through a crowded street and walked away with him…. The police investigation into his horrific murder threatened to involve several Ministry employees that had worked in close contact with him, and so Bellatrix decided that they had overstayed their welcome and moved on.

But she would have had to move anyway. The Ministry, the Order, Death Eaters; any passing glance could be a threat, any random person could be carrying her picture in their pocket. Magic left traces, and to anyone who knew her well, finding her would be childishly easy. But every week, even now, brought word on the capture or interrogation of suspected Death Eaters. She could only hope that those who knew her the best would end up in Azkaban. Or better yet, dead, like both of her parents. Narcissa was too comfortable and safe to go searching for her mad sister, and Andromeda…well, she thought she would be safe there. After leaving Grimmauld Place, she had gone to see her sister, for the first time in four years.

_February, 1982 _

Andromeda Tonks was not proud of her family. Of her insane, abusive father, or her mother, too weak to fight back. Or her sisters, who believed every prejudiced word out of their parents' mouths. She had gotten out as soon as she could. She created a family that she could be proud of, though her husband fell far short of her parents' Pureblood expectations. Sitting on their tattered sofa, Andromeda looked down at her daughter, who was curled up next to her, and smiled , silently vowing to be a better mother than her own had been. And Ted was nothing, _nothing_ like her father. Her family had fallen apart after she had run off with Ted – something that she could never bring herself to regret. Of course, she had read about her mother's death in the paper – nothing short of murder. Her father's death, just a year and a half later, well, she had her suspicions about that as well. Not perfect Narcissa, daddy's little girl and blessed with a Pureblood suitor. But Bellatrix….

She pitied her, she honestly did. Even now, she tried to convince herself that her sister's descent into madness hadn't started when she left, that it was inevitable, being the oldest child in that family, the power, the expectations. But still, she felt the pain of Bellatrix's enlistment with the Death Eaters. Their father died just three months later. Had that been Bellatrix's first murder?

Then she had been forced into marriage a man everyone in Britain knew she couldn't stand. She couldn't imagine the pain, the shame…. And the Longbottoms. There was no coming back from that. Being a member of the Order, Andromeda had hoped so desperately for Voldemort's downfall – it was her only hope of saving her sister. But the moment had been bittersweet; she had heard no word of Bellatrix in over three months. The rumor on the street was that her sister was dead, killed in a high-security cell in Azkaban during questioning. And no one had the guts to own up to it. Bellatrix was yet another victim of Voldemort; she hadn't deserved her fate. Andromeda sighed and shook her head. She could not change the past, however much she might want to. She could only work to give her daughter a future, and a mother she could be proud of.

But Andromeda Tonks would get her second chance.

Ted Tonks understood that he had married into a rather unusual family. Though he loved his wife dearly, he could not help but wonder about the rest of his in-laws. He had never even met Mr. and Mrs. Black, having heard enough about them from Andromeda to satisfy even the deepest curiosity. Quite certain that they would never have approved of their daughter's choice (though he wasn't sure exactly why until several months later), Ted and Andromeda had run away together after dating for just six months.

And what a whirlwind those six months had been! Sneaking down to the village at midnight, sending each other secret notes that were delivered by Andromeda's pet owl– and then they were married, and raising little Dora. By then, Ted certainly knew what his wife was. What his daughter would be. Witches.

At the time, he had thought his fiancé was playing a brilliant joke on him, turning a saucer into a mouse, Summoning flowers. Then she had lit herself on fire, the flames singeing even the ends of her hair – but far from shrieking in pain, Andromeda had only laughed at the expression on his face. The flames disappeared and there she stood, unharmed….Ted had been forced to sign some legal documents at a place called the Ministry of Magic saying that he wouldn't tell anyone, blah, blah, blah, and the world returned to normal. Mostly. Every now and again the Tonks family would visit Diagon Ally and eat at a Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlor and once, he and Andromeda had "Apparated" to a place named Honeydukes to shop for Dora's fourth birthday. He was even offered a secretarial position at the Ministry, filling out paperwork and the like.

But Ted had turned them down. Though he accepted his family for who they were, he simply didn't belong in that world. Sometimes he was a little jealous of the bond his wife and daughter shared. Just the other day, Dora had been playing with a bullfrog on the front lawn and it had suddenly stopped croaking, as if its voice-box had been removed. And even among the magical community, Dora was special. From the day she was born, her physical appearance was constantly changing, at first unconsciously, but slowly she gained control. Now, at the age of six, she had learned that suddenly changing one's hair in front of the neighbors was upsetting to them, as they lived in a Muggle neighborhood. More than once Ted or his wife had been forced to rush outside and explain that the light sometimes played tricks with the color of Dora's hair.

However, Ted also understood from his wife that not all magic was as harmless as changing one's hair. Dark, evil magic existed, and almost as soon as he was brought into this entirely new world, Dark forces began changing it. A man named Voldemort and his followers, the Death Eaters, were gaining power. Andromeda had joined a secret society called the Order of the Phoenix when Dora was three, and completely dedicated herself to bringing about Voldemort's downfall. But Ted knew that his wife had secrets, secrets that she would not share even with him. Soon after Andromeda joined the Order, her sister, they had gone to visit her sister, just after Bellatrix had moved out of the house and it was safe.

Bellatrix's resemblance to her older sister had been striking. They had the same long, curly black hair, the same facial structure, even the same deep brown eyes. But there was something about his sister-in-law that scared the living hell out of Ted. Andromeda had stood in front of him, protectively, during that horrible conversation on Bellatrix's stoop, as though she thought her sister might attack him. But it was more than the threat of physical injury. There was just something…. Her eyes, he decided. While Andromeda's eyes were warm and inviting, Bellatrix's were cold, detached from the world. From reality. He shuddered inwardly as he wondered what reality could be too hard to bear, what could have done that to someone so young. What could corrupt her soul itself.

But Ted pitied the girl as well. He knew what had become of her now, though he wasn't given the details. She worked for Voldemort. Three months ago, after her master's disappearance, she "permanently incapacitated" two people and now was most likely dead.

But Bellatrix was not dead, as Ted would soon find out when his wife opened the door to find his sister-in-law standing on the stoup, soaked in the blood that was still streaming from her head, cradling an infant.


	9. Chapter 9

Andromeda stared, a flood of emotions coursing through her body, each crashing down on her brain, each competing for attention. Shock, horror, happiness, revulsion, hope, despair, excitement, foreboding, pity, sorrow, compassion, love, anger. Here stood her sister, whom she had given up for dead, whom she loved, cared for, had tried and failed to protect from the world, from herself. But it wasn't her sister, either. Because there also stood the woman whose arrogant face stared down at her from the front page of the Prophet and from the Wanted posters plastered up and down Diagon Alley. The woman that had given her soul to the devil, signed up with the Death Eaters, murdered her friends and family, and had tortured Frank and Alice Longbottom into insanity. She belonged in Azkaban. But she also belonged at home.

Andromeda had a responsibility to her husband and daughter, to keep them safe. Wasn't that the very reason that she fought everyday with the Order, risking her life to eliminate the fear, the chaos, the evil that had pervaded her home? She couldn't save everyone, though. Was one of them her sister? Her brain was a battle zone, struggling against itself to make a decision, possibly one that would save someone she loved. Or one that would kill them all. Did she still know her sister? But as the final piece of the puzzle in front of her slid into place, the scene made sense. As she registered the presence of the infant, not even aware of the rain pouring down around him, Andromeda's decision was made for her.

She opened the door.

Bellatrix stepped into the hall of the small house, surveying the lime green paint with distaste, as well as the photos hanging on the wall, which depicted her niece, her hair bright purple, sitting on the front lawn. Another depicted the child brandishing a rather large stick at a rather large slug. Pictures of the Order filled the remaining wall space, celebrating birthdays, weddings. The last, a rather recent photo, showed the entire Order, as well as their friends and families, toasting each other, a banner fluttering lazily overhead in an imaginary breeze. It read, "Goodbye You Know Who!". A reminder of what she had lost, and of why she was here.

She could sense Andromeda behind her, her pity and sorrow practically radiating off of her body. But her sister had made her decision, and she would have to live with it, as she herself had lived with its consequences. She heard Andromeda's unspoken questions about Harry, but she was determined not to turn this visit into yet another mistake. A _pop _behind her and a small basket appeared in the corner, imitating perfectly the exact shade of the paint behind it. Just part of her instinct for stealth and secrecy. Just the right size for the infant in her arms.

Bellatrix crossed the room in three strides and placed him into the basket, muttering protective charms, as though she half-expected to be attacked while standing there. Among them was Muffilato, no doubt to ensure that the now-sleeping infant didn't become a crying one. As the basket and its contents melted back into the wall, Bellatrix finally turned to face Andromeda.

"Bella? How… how are you?" The response she received was ringing laughter with just a touch of insanity.

"Really, that's the burning question on your mind, _Dromida_? My welfare? Doing good, thanks. Nasty last few months….or was that years? Not a 'why are you here' or, my personal favorite when I enter someone's residence, 'Are you going to kill me?'"

Bellatrix allowed her voice to become slightly softer. "I didn't come here to hurt you. I need…help. You could call it 'compensation'." Each word brought more pain to Andromeda's face, something that Bellatrix was obviously relishing. "I am leaving and I want nothing more than to never see another member of the Order again, at least, until my Lord returns. But they, I'm sure, don't feel the same way about me. The reward on my head is 1,000 Galleons now, is it not? They will be chasing me."

"Why?"

"Why will people be chasing me? Well, if you can believe it, some people actually have a grudge against me. Some nonsense about _liking_the Longbottoms, being their _friends_. The tears of a few have watered the hatred of many."

"No, why are you _here_? You could have _Imperio_ed another member of the Order yourself, convinced them not to chase you. Why come here at all?"

"I have to leave. Now. I can't fight off everyone at once, forever. I need security. Protection. You know why I'm here." Bellatrix narrowed her eyes, daring her sister to contradict her.

"The pendant? But… how did you know…?"

Bellatrix laughed, though her voice was colored by hatred, not mirth.

"I was the one who left it there, on the table, waiting for you to grab it as you ran out of the door with your filthy boyfriend," Bellatrix said quietly. "I assumed you'd leave him, eventually, and come back. I didn't want you to get hurt in the meantime, with the family angry, when there was no one there to protect you. You were never a good duelist."

Andromeda nodded slowly, digesting this new information. "But I never did come back," she said quietly.

"No. You are not even fit to possess such an heirloom. You are no longer a Black. If I had known where you were, I would have killed you myself. Unfortunately the pendant doesn't make an exception for family. I would kill you now, if it wouldn't look so damn suspicious."

Andromeda nodded again; she knew she had been disinherited by her entire family as soon as she had walked out the door, except for Bellatrix, it seemed. She wondered exactly when her sister's hopeful waiting had turned to anger, and if it had been her new master that had sown that seed.

"How do you know I won't just turn you into the police?"

"Because you'll never find me, anyway. And I'm pretty sure giving a pendant to an armed, escaped fugitive that allows her to evade arrest is frowned upon. Half of the Order will think that you helped me to escape whatever prison I'm supposedly in right now."

Andromeda knew that her sister was right. And if she didn't give her the pendant, she was sure that Bellatrix's desire for safety wouldn't overwhelm her hatred of her blood traitor sister enough to prevent her from killing to get it.

Bellatrix watched as her younger sister carefully retrieved a deep blue pendant from a thin silver chain around her neck, and wordlessly handed it to her. Feeling the coolness of the sapphire, even after resting against human flesh for hours, she was immediately set at ease. She held in her hand a piece of what her life once was. Untraceable, unbreakable, this pendant would ensure that she could never be tracked by any sort of magic, a luxury that she had never expected to gain at so low a cost, but would surely be instrumental in ensuring her survival, and that of the boy. Satisfied, Bellatrix turned to leave, not wanting to risk calling up any more memories.

"Bellatrix? Stay safe."

"Me, stay safe? With this pendant, it's your precious Order that should worry about safety. I'll leave one for you sometime, on your doorstep. Think of it as a thank you gift." Bellatrix spat out her words without breaking stride, their venom penetrating deep into her sister's conscious, smiling as they took effect. The color drained from Andromeda's face, and the obvious concern was replaced with fear. Just as her sister had no doubt intended.

Bellatrix scooped up Harry from his corner, and, three Memory Charms later, just to be safe, walked out the door, her footsteps lighter than they had been upon entering.

_March, 1985 _(again)

Back at the cottage, Bellatrix froze as she heard a _pop_ on her doorstep. She drew her wand and advanced upon the door, throwing it open, a fatal curse on the tip of her tongue, only to discover that no one was there. Very carefully, she opened the long, thin white package. Inside was a beautiful new wand, 11 ¼ in with phoenix feather core, and a note underneath: "The Trace has been lifted." Harry's training was about to begin.


	10. Chapter 10

**I would like to thank Bangle-Babe for motivating me into posting this on time. She was amazing and posted her chapter for her new story, Dear Bella, on time, so I thought that I had also better….**

**Oh, and the dates are just for the next few chapters, because I will be jumping around a bit in time.**

_June, 1991_

"Get up!" Harry jerked awake, and his effort was rewarded with a burst of agony as a thousand knives burrowed deep into his flesh, making every ounce of his blood run white hot. Adrenaline was now coursing through him, but it was for naught. The pain didn't fade, and within seconds he was on the floor, flopping about like a fish out of water as his body rebelled against the pain threatening to overwhelm him. Slowly, reluctantly, the pain faded.

"Good, you didn't pass out that time," Bellatrix noted approvingly. "What if I had been an enemy? You would be dead. Your first instinct when you get up should be to Summon your wand. Before you take a breath, or take in your surroundings, or even realize that you're awake." Harry soaked in the lesson as a _crack_ behind him meant that his mother had left. Sometimes it seemed like his entire life was just one training exercise after another. Not that his mother didn't have good reason to be worried for their safety.

Sometimes he thought that maybe, just maybe, his mother _intentionally_ led him into danger, to test him, make him stronger. Because the alternative was that they were the two most unlucky people in the world. Trouble seemed to shadow them like the plague; Harry had been interrogated in relation to more murders than he cared to count; all of his friends seemed to turn up dead after a few months. After a while, he had stopped caring, stopped forming real emotional attachment. It just wasn't worth it anymore.

A new house every few months, new acquaintances, new prying neighbors, but always the same routine. Up at 6:00, eat a quick breakfast, and then dive right into "boot camp". It seemed to Harry that he would never learn all there was to know, never complete his lessons. There was so much to know! Dangerous creatures, Dark curses, deadly plants, poisonous potions, the list stretched on and on. As did his lessons. Monday through Saturday, 6:30-5:00, and then he had homework on top of it all.

Sunday mornings he went to the store, always by himself. That was something that his mother had always been adamant about. Ever since he was old enough to find his way to the store and back, he went alone. Some of his neighbors probably thought that he lived by himself; his mother almost never left the house. If she did, it usually meant that it was time to leave again. Sunday afternoons he was forced out of the house and told to "go make friends". The trouble was, it was harder and harder to make friends when everyone knew you as "that weird kid at the end of the block". The one whose mom refused to leave the house, the homeschooled one that possessed no social skills. Kids avoided him, and the ones that didn't disappeared after a while.

Harry reflected sadly on his social situation as he pulled on his socks. He _had_ gotten better. He had learned that if you walk up to a girl and ask her if she liked you, you _will_ get slapped in the face. He learned that you should never eat food given to you by a stranger (which Bellatrix had taught him at home and had been reinforced when an older boy on his block gave him a cupcake filled with toothpaste. Which Harry thought was perfectly normal as he had not yet learned to recognize the signs of the Imperious Curse.) And he learned how to run faster than any other boy in the neighborhood, a solution to almost any social situation. Usually the simplest.

But the biggest barrier to friends was Harry's magic. As he lived in a "Muggle" neighborhood, Harry was to _never_ reveal that he was a wizard to _anyone_. Not to his friends, not to his prying neighbors, not to the nice old woman who ran the local grocery store. No one. He had only broken this rule once, when he was eight, for his best friend, a boy named Andy. Elated at having a friend, finally fitting in for once, it had just…slipped out. Andy had been cool with it after he had gotten over his initial disbelief; eight year olds are surprisingly open-minded. Finally, here was Harry's perfect friend, one that could share in even his deepest secret!

The next morning Harry had woken up to find that he wasn't alone in his room. Andy was there, too. Hanging from the ceiling. Dead. Harry had run downstairs, hysterical, sobbing and crying from the pain of loss and the shock of it all. Bellatrix had let him have the day off of lessons, but Harry never again told anyone his secret. He had most definitely learned his lesson for the day.

Bellatrix sat alone at the table downstairs, surveying the day's lesson plan. Today, they would be continuing some basic Transfiguration and starting to brew another batch of Polyjuice Potion.

Harry's training had come a long way since he had first received his wand. Damn interfering Dumbledore making himself useful for once. He did make things complicated, though. Dumbledore was obviously protecting them, or at least not actively opposing them, but why? Harry's best interest? Bellatrix smirked to herself. No, that wasn't it. If she was Dumbledore's best bet, then the Order was screwed.

No, this was all part of some elaborate plan, and she hated it. Hated being a pawn in someone else's game. However, even the almighty Dumbledore couldn't control the Death Eaters, and while it gave Bellatrix some measure of satisfaction to know that some small part of her situation wasn't being controlled by some scheming old man, it was quite astounding how many of her former companions had managed to avoid Azkaban, and several of them seemed intent on using their good fortunes to track her down, no doubt to interrogate her for her disappearance. They suspected her of double crossing them, and the pendant, while giving her a fighting chance, did not prevent her from being followed all together, just through magical means.

Just yesterday she had heard rumors of two suspicious newcomers in long black robes, definitely wizards. Two more threats to be eliminated.. She just could not run the risk of someone finding them. Harry must never find out, though. He must never know what she had done. What she was capable of.

Harry had had to grow up much faster than a normal boy, and she wouldn't put this on him, too. Her fear, her constant, never ceasing fear did not have to diffuse to her adopted son, because as much as Bellatrix told herself that she feared nothing, the simple truth was that the more you knew, the more you had reason to be afraid. And Bellatrix knew an awful lot. Things that would send shivers down the most ignorant idiot's spine, how to break down even the strongest character and mold it to your will, how to sap the very desire for life out of someone, their hopes, their fears, and then kill them. In cold blood.

But Harry didn't have to become her. Didn't have to know what that felt like, to slowly kill yourself, your soul, to protect someone else. She would do anything, _anything_ that it took to protect him, especially from those that had once made her own life hell, though she had been unable to recognize it at the time. How much she had changed in the past nine and a half years! But then, she reflected, it had not been until after she had escaped her old life could she look back and see it clearly. She did not know what she would do if confronted with her old master. He had been her life, for so long, and still, she felt a perverse loyalty to him. He had taught her everything. He had made her who she was, handed her the tools for success, provided everything she needed in life. Gave her purpose.

But now, perhaps, it was time for the roles to change, for the student to become the teacher. Though Snape could hardly have known it at the time (he couldn't, could he?), entrusting Bellatrix with Harry had saved her from doing something stupid, from getting herself caught. In giving her something to loose, Snape had changed her future. At first, it had started off just keeping him safe for her master to finish off, then she was just teaching him basic magic, helping them to stay safe by creating an automaton to fight off enemies, but after ten years….

After ten years, her first priority was keeping Harry safe, and that meant that anyone who got close to them had to be eliminated. She called it "purging"; the night before they were scheduled to move to a new location, friends and neighbors would disappear, never to be seen again. By human eyes, that is. The stray dogs that roamed the outskirts of town and gnawed on anything that would sit still long enough quite enjoyed the profusion of bones that the morning would bring.

Andy was a rather unfortunate incident. But some lessons can't be taught in the classroom. In fact, she had been surprised that Harry hadn't started asking questions right then and there; how Andy had gotten into his room, for one. He had been upset though, and not thinking straight. For all the lessons on observation and deduction that Bellatrix had hammered into him – a wizard's best tools in combat – Harry had yet to realize that his mother was actually the Angel of Death, that trouble followed _her_, not _them_.

Bellatrix idly wondered how many people now had sacrificed their lives for the goal of keeping them alive, mostly innocent Muggles, whose memories she couldn't risk having used against them. A hundred and fifty? Perhaps more? She had stopped counting; the actual number meant nothing. It cost her nothing, now, each new digit. They were all the same. Muggle or wizard, weak or powerful, it did not matter. They were equal in death, in the end.

Even if the strangers hadn't somehow found them, though, it wouldn't have changed the fact that she and Harry would have to move again, and soon. Harry's eleventh birthday was a fortnight away, and with it, his letter from Hogwarts. And she was sure that however meddlesome Dumbledore had been thus far, it would only get worse with the possibility of Harry's coming to Hogwarts this upcoming school year. But he wasn't ready, not yet. There was still so much left to do. So much left to teach him, to prepare him for what was to come. For his destiny.

Because now Bellatrix was sure, as sure as she had ever been, that Harry was destined, somehow, to defeat the Dark Lord, to kill him this time. A feat that even she wouldn't dare dream of having the power to accomplish; the Dark Lord's powers were unparalleled, except perhaps by Dumbledore. But Dumbledore was at the top of Voldemort's hit list, and when he was out of the way, it would be down to Harry, unsure though she was of where her loyalties lay. The only thing she knew was that her old friends would not be pleased if she suddenly reappeared, have more questions than she could answer. And she shuddered to think what the Death Eaters would do to Harry, where they given the chance….. And they hadn't even started on Unforgivables yet! Or more advanced Transfiguration, certainly not anything involving humans! Or some NEWT level Charms or certain rare poisons…things that Hogwarts wouldn't teach him, things he needed to survive.

Bellatrix sent a lazy curse through the ceiling and from the distant yelp, she gathered that she had very nearly missed Harry's feet. Well, perhaps that would hurry him along, then. And as for Dumbledore, well, she would think of something.

She smiled to herself, and hoped, for the messenger's sake, that he wasn't stupid enough to send someone in person to deliver the letter.


	11. Chapter 11

_July, 1991_

The greasy-haired man strode confidently across the beach, looking strangely out of place with his billowing cloak set against the background of the ocean. With a cross mutter, the sand that had been steadily seeping into his shoes rejoined its companions on the beach, and his shoes were once again spotless. As he neared a small shack in the distance, almost too small for human habitation, his steps slowed. Carefully, almost uncertainly, he drew closer, his hand clenched tightly around a rather fat letter emblazoned with the letter H in deep red wax. Maintaining a constant stream of magic, checking for defensive spells, traps, hexes, or, more likely, a spell that would kill him when he stepped on the wrong grain of sand, Severus Snape finally reached the front door. Counting his blessings, he raised his hand to knock on the door— when a voice inside stopped him abruptly.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you."

Snape gingerly pushed open the rickety door to find a woman sitting in an armchair on the far side of a room disproportionately large compared to its exterior. Her glare was fixed on the door, as though she had been expecting him.

"Why would that be?" he asked politely.

"Because I swore that if you ever came knocking on my door, I'd kill you."

Snape found that to be a very good reason.

Bellatrix glared at Snape, and, more specifically, the letter she knew him to be carrying.

"You can save me the trouble and just put it directly in the fire and be on your way, then."

"Dumbledore specifically told me –"

"Well, if _Dumbledore_ told you to do it, then you had better," she interrupted sarcastically. "Wouldn't want to go running back to him with an unfinished job, now would we? You can tell your precious headmaster that he's lucky he even still has a Potions master."

"Why do things always have to be difficult with you, Bellatrix?"

"Me, difficult? Have you forgotten that the last time I saw you, you imprisoned me in my own house for three months?"

"I believe the last time you saw me you left me for dead in _your family's house_, right after you broke my wand. And my _arm_."

"Details. Is Dumbledore so confident that he believes one of his teachers can come strolling into my house and leave unharmed?"

"Perhaps not unharmed, although he thinks that you will not kill me, I'm sure, or he would not have sent me here, unless I have severely mistaken my standing with him. But Dumbledore certainly doesn't underestimate your – ah, shall we say _talent_ – for murder. How many has it been now?"

Bellatrix ignored him and returned to stirring the sludge inside a large, black caldron.

"You know, you're doing that wrong," Snape offered.

"You do it, then," Bellatrix snapped, throwing him the ladle, which Snape promptly dropped. Flushing, Snape bent to retrieve the fallen ladle and returned it to its pot with as much good grace as he could muster. Bellatrix, supremely indifferent, turned down the narrow hallway, stopping in front of the first bedroom and slowly shutting the door, careful to make no noise. Returning to the living room after a few moments, she was surprised to see Snape, intently stirring the batch of Polyjuice Potion.

"You still here?" she asked pointedly.

"Yes," he replied simply.

"No, really, get out."

"Just a few questions before I leave. First, which remote village do you plan on visiting next? Sifting through Muggle newspapers is a truly tedious job, and you could save me the trouble with a simple map of your future plans."

"You've been doing _what_?" she gasped, horrified, dropping all pretenses of even a slightly civil encounter.

"Sifting through newspapers," he replied calmly, "or were you going to tell me your next destination? I had to keep an eye on you, didn't I?"

"I – You – Why—" she spluttered. "When was I ever in any damn Muggle newspaper?" she finally burst out. Snape smirked.

"You are much easier to follow than you might think, Bella. The missing person's reports alone are enough to follow, without the absurdly graphic murders and ridiculously overdone defensive measures. I must have removed five different alarms on my way here."

"Well, you still didn't manage to get all of them, now did you?" Bellatrix retorted. "And another thing, if you think that I –"

"Mom?" came a soft voice from the shadows of the hallway. An eleven year old boy stood there in his pajamas, beholding his mother with confusion, but beneath that, a look of the utmost trust, as if he knew that he didn't understand what was going on now, but knew that his mother would never let anything happen to him. Bellatrix whipped around, and even Snape looked surprised as the boy's glance shifted to him, eyeing him with distrust and – perhaps a glimmer of hope?

"Mom, is that –"

"No, no, quickly, clear your thoughts, don't let him break into your mind – Damn it, never mind, he'll be in already…." Bellatrix, slightly annoyed at Snape's interference, moved between him and her son, as though determined to protect him in whatever way possible from the mental assault.

Snape, victorious over Harry's mental defenses and now picking through the images now available for the taking, quickly glanced over at her, wondering how she had known the extent of his Occlumency training.

"I took the time it would have taken me to break into the mind of the average Auror, then added five seconds to get the time it took you to overcome my son," she said in explanation. Snape's victorious expression soured considerably. Bellatrix had not moved from Harry's side, and now she began to sheppard him back to his room, exchanging hushed whispers.

"Mom, who is that? That's not, not _him_ is it?" Snape could just make out her barely discernible flush.

"No, of course not, how ridiculous! Him? No, just go back to bed, he's leaving now…." Her voice trailed off, and Snape heard her mutter a few choice spells that would prevent him from getting anywhere near Harry.

"Mom…." Snape repeated softly.

Bellatrix returned for a second time from Harry's room. "He called you 'mom'. _Mom_. Does he know anything?" Snape asked accusingly. Bellatrix once again declined to respond.

"Did you hear me?" Snape was angry now. "What did you tell him?"

"You know what he knows," Bellatrix responded wearily. "I wouldn't expect you for even one second to respect the privacy of my son's mind."

"Nothing? How _nothing_ is 'nothing'? He thinks that you're his _real mother_? What were you thinking, Bellatrix, what will he do when he finds out the truth? What would it have cost you to tell him that he was adopted?"

"Then he would just ask awkward questions about _both_ of his parents."

"And the eyes! The _eyes_, Bellatrix! What the _hell_ is that? Is this all some joke to you, some sick joke?"

Bellatrix spun on him, her wand underneath his chin in half a second, fighting the urge to mouth just one simple spell….

"Do you think that's what this is, Snape? A joke? You told me to keep him safe, and I've done a damn good job of it. A single mother with an adopted child? I don't care about you, or your petty job, or your miserable little life, but you're useful, Snape, and that's the only reason you're still standing where you are right now instead of slumped onto the floor. You keep Harry alive, and that's all I care about. You're a tool, Snape, and don't you forget it. You're useless to us until you can learn to shelve your emotion, and accept that now, Harry is my _son_. Being raised by _me_. He has to be! So sorry that I'm not Lily Evans!" Bellatrix allowed the malice to seep into her voice. "You thought that I never figured it out, didn't you? Sighed in relief when you thought I'd forgotten. The Dark Lord has no use for stupid lieutenants. That's what you were doing, that first day. You were looking at Harry's eyes, remembering his mother. You know, her son had her exact eyes. And now mine has my eyes. Is that what you thought of, when you first saw him, why you came here in the first place? You begged Dumbledore for this job, begged him like the snake that you are, so you could get a glimpse of _Lily's_ son, of _Lily's_ eyes, and instead, you get this. You're pathetic. You were in love. Now she's dead. Get over it." Bellatrix lowered her wand. "Get the hell out of my house. Now. And don't come back until it matters more to you whether Harry is still breathing than if his eyes are green or brown."

Snape's eyes were murderous, his movements stiff and jerky, as though it caused him real pain to not rise to the bait. Managing to grind out "With pleasure," between clenched teeth, he strode imperiously across the room and through the door, slamming it on the way out. Bellatrix sat down in the armchair, staring angrily at the still-simmering Polyjuice Potion before a flick of her wand turned the caldron over, the sludge seeping across the wood flooring and somehow making it to the fireplace. As the flames flickered and died, Bellatrix was plunged into darkness….


	12. Chapter 12

_June, 1993_

"No! Do not see me with your eyes! Your eyes can be fooled. Look with your mind." Harry was hit from behind by a spell causing temporary blindness. "Where am I? Find my mind, my thoughts." Struggling, Harry lashed out wildly with his mind—and encountered resistance behind him, to his left. Sending out a stream of hexes, his vision finally returned, just in time to see his mother casually deflect the last of his attack.

"Better, much better. But this should be easy for you, my mind should be familiar. What will you do when you are up against an opponent you have never met before?" Bellatrix slowly shook her head, disappointed for the first time in over a year with Harry's progress. Two years had passed since her refusal to send Harry to Hogwarts, but he was already fast approaching NEWT level. Now they were advancing beyond what he would be taught at Hogwarts – today, the intricacies of mental warfare. Legilimancy was such a general term; a true master knew that its uses were never-ending, both in combat and otherwise. Causing pain, sensing that which your eyes could not, incapacitation, even absolute control – all could be achieved with just a single spell, applied a thousand different ways.

But Bellatrix couldn't afford to be that narrow minded; already she had been skipping spells that would be common knowledge among third years in favor of more advanced curses. Harry would always be at a disadvantage fighting an Auror, a Death Eater; it didn't matter. She just didn't have the time to teach him everything that he needed to know. And that meant that he needed to perfect everything that much faster, master a curse in days instead of weeks. Harry was exhausted, as was she. They had been training non-stop for two years, ever since Snape had paid them a visit on Harry's eleventh birthday. They would have to return to the real world, sooner or later.

With renewed energy, she again launched herself into combat, decimating Harry's mental barriers with her first strike. "Never turn your back on the enemy! Not until you are _sure_ that they are dead!" Well, she would just have to make the most of what time she did have.

Which meant that it was time to find some _real_ opponents.

_October, 1995_

"The Draught of Living Death is among those potions that the few of you talented enough to make NEWT level Potions next year will encounter. You have one hour. Begin."

Snape had to admire for just a moment the nervous faces, scrambling off of stools and walking to the cupboard for ingredients, or, more prudently, flipping through books. He subconsciously rubbed his arm as it burned momentarily. Voldemort was getting stronger. Something that even Mundungus Fletcher ought to know by now, but the difference was that he, Snape, had the proof literally branded into his arm. Living proof that his double-life was about to begin again, and that his rather failing hobby of keeping Lily's son alive was about to get much, much more complicated.

Snape's eyes snapped up from his thoughts as one of his students, Neville Longbottom, managed to spill green sludge all over himself just ten minutes into the assignment. A flick of his wand and the entire cauldron full of filth disappeared. Meanwhile, the boy had begun to whimper pathetically, as his concoction seemed to have been acidic.

"Thomas, take Longbottom here down to the hospital wing. He seems to have successfully created some brand of acid, and while that was not the assignment, I do have to congratulate him on taking the initiative to concoct a potion strong enough to burn its way right through his arm. "

Dean Thomas quickly dropped his own book, grabbed the ever-increasingly distressed Neville, and marched him out the door, looking very relieved to escape the day's lesson. Longbottom, on the other hand, merely looked at him with the same fearful expression that always seemed to plant itself upon the boy's face. Snape particularly detested him. It was more than just his complete and utter incompetence at Potions, or the fact that he seemed to have been born without a spinal cord. It was his very name, his story, that he hated. The memory of his parents' smiling faces.

He had known Frank and Alice Longbottom through the Order, met them just once after signing up with Dumbledore. A better pair of Aurors you couldn't find, but they had been so…welcoming. Perhaps foolishly so. Never once had they questioned his motives; they just accepted that he had really left Voldemort. They trusted Dumbledore, and that had gotten them a life-sentence in St. Mungos, unable to curse Bellatrix if she walked into their room, wand outstretched and murder in her eyes….and this was the woman he had left Harry with!

Countless times, he had thought and rethought his decision, asked himself if there hadn't been a better solution, _any_ other solution. But at the time it had been his only option. And Harry was still alive, though his mental status certainly would be questionable. Would Lily's son ever forgive him for the life he had condemned him to, once he found out the truth? If he found out the truth?

The memory of his visit to the shack on the ocean front swam hazily to the surface of his mind as Snape tried to push it back down, force it into submission. He could see _those eyes_ again, his last memento of Lily, erased forever. Never again would he see those perfect green eyes glowing from under a mane of auburn hair, never again would he seek her approval, push himself to make her proud, to never disappoint her. That is, until that horrible day by the lake….

Snape stopped himself short, horrified at his unplanned recollections. Were his emotions really compromising their safety? Was it possible that Bellatrix, for once in her life, had been correct, actually have Harry's best interest at heart? Surely not. This was Bellatrix Lestrange, after all. She was evil, _crazy_, and yet –

Suddenly, his head was spinning, the pain was building… but it wasn't the memory of the unnatural eyes, nor his screaming match with Bellatrix. Not this time. No, now his arm was searing once more, sending desperate pain signals through his flesh as his poor, much-abused nerves sounded the bugle, the intruder branded into his very skin. The Mark was burning again, more intensely than Snape had felt in fourteen years.

It was a Summons.

_December, 1995_

Bellatrix smiled slightly as the ravenous crowd pressing all around her roared. Slipping to the back, she waited at the bar for Harry to make his way out of the ring. She leaned casually back, recounting the duel in her mind. Harry had been flawless, his motions precise, his spells effective, and with a particularly wide grin, she remembered the way his wrist flicked oh-so-slightly, disarming his opponent, a burly thirty-five year old man, to the enthusiastic approval of the many spectators packed into the abandoned building. This was just one of many fights, one of many underground dueling clubs, that they had been to, though of course she herself did not participate. The risk was too great that someone would recognize her. In fact, "retired" Death Eaters ran many of the clubs, pulling strings from behind a veil of legitimacy, making their money off of degenerate gamblers. Like a certain Lucius Malfoy, who would no doubt decorate that mansion of his with the latest in ridiculous fashion accessories. Slimy git. But his time would come.

The commentator's magically magnified voice snapped Bellatrix out of her reverie and back to reality, where the boldest in a group of several men hovering a few feet away was finding the courage to approach her at the bottom of another Firewhisky.

"Damn that boy, where is he?" she thought angrily. It was with barely perceptible relief that she finally spotted Harry through the crowd, grinning widely over his last match. Amid a chorus of jeers, Bellatrix led her son outside into the fresh air, leaving the screaming crowd and the smell of blood behind them. Gripping Harry's arm tightly, almost as though she were afraid that he would somehow be swept from her grasp, Bellatrix turned lightly on her heel and disappeared into the night.

_December, 1995_

Just a week later, though, and they were back, Harry again in the ring facing a new opponent. Just 5' 4" and weighing about a hundred and fifty pounds, the wiry man could be no older than twenty-one, yet Harry was struggling against what was clearly a far more experienced wizard. The two months that Harry had been fighting were nothing compared to the years of experience held by the best duelists, and it showed. With a quick fake to the right, Harry sent a Stunner right past the man's left ear, then nimbly dodged the Stinging Hex that was shot back in return.

"_Impedimenta_!" Harry cried, only to have his spell quickly deflected. Taking advantage of his opening, Harry's opponent fired back a Severing Charm – and this time, the spell hit. Harry screamed and clutched his arm as a long gash sliced down to the bone. Not giving up, he tried in vain to gain the upper hand with a feeble "_Expeliarmus_!"

Harry collapsed onto the ground after the man's next spell, his vision already starting to fade out, and his head bleeding, too. His opponent punched the air in victory. The match was over. But apparently not for the victor. His face alight with a feverish glow, the man approached Harry and kicked him hard in the chest with enough force to break a couple ribs. Over the noise of the blood-thirsty crowd, he yelled, "_Crucio_!" Harry's body spasmed, his broken bones now groaning as they were jerked about cruelly, the blood pooling under his body. Bellatrix winced and narrowed her eyes, locking them onto the victor. "_Crucio_!" Now he really was pushing it. But she must not…."_CRUCIO_!"

Bellatrix snapped.

Whipping out her wand in half a second, she hastily undid the magical barriers around the area and jumped the rail, now standing across the ring from her son's unconscious body. A hush fell over the crowd.

"I think I will be taking my son now and leaving," she ground out through clenched teeth, struggling to master her anger. She must not attack him. She could not afford to fight here, where everyone was watching…

"Is that so? Well I think I'll _let_ him leave when I'm done with him, and I'm having quite a bit of good fun right about now." Harry's body jerked pathetically again. The crowd roared its approval. Bellatrix's patience broke with the fury of a caged beast. A snarl tore through furled lips, the ground cracking with the intensity of her anger.

Eyes aflame, Bellatrix slowly paced forward, closing the gap between herself and her son, her wand dancing through the air. Desperately blocking her blows, cowering under their intensity, her opponent finally fell when Bellatrix was just ten feet away. Slumped against the railing of the arena, bleeding profusely and panting from exhaustion, he let out a slight whimper as she closed the last few feet.

But she did not come after him to extract revenge for her son and to finish the duel as the crowd expected. No, instead she knelt down beside Harry, singing out a spell, healing his cracked and broken ribs and his cut arm. Having stanched the blood flow, she tilted back his head and pried open his mouth, force-feeding him a Blood Replenishing Potion, a vial of which she now always carried with her. Hesitant to move Harry, she then lowered his body off the ropes and to the floor as she conjured up a stretcher.

Bellatrix's luckless opponent did not take defeat well. Suffocating under the disappointed boos and ridiculing glances of the now-restless crowd, he shot one last sulky curse at the still-unconscious boy.

Even Bellatrix didn't have time to deflect it. Instead, she stuck out her hand and closed her eyes. The curse tore through her flesh and ripped off her middle finger, sending it cart-wheeling though the air in a shower of crimson. Blood streamed down the arm of her ripped robes, staining them a deep red. But Bellatrix did not scream or even gasp in pain. She opened her eyes and wordlessly Summoned her finger, magically reattaching it with the skill of someone who has lost many body parts before, someone who knows pain well. Then, slowly, she got to her feet and turned around.

The man seemed to have now lost control of his words and movement in general. A jet of red light sailed half-heartedly over Bellatrix's right shoulder. She didn't even bother to deflect it. Leaning down over the broken man, she whispered in his ear,

"I'll see you in hell, you son of a bitch, and then we can continue this." Smiling, Bellatrix pressed her wand to his temple, she murmured softly, vehemently, "_Avada Kadavra_!"

The man's body went limp and slumped over onto the floor. The crowd, which had gone absolutely silent, dissolved into anxious, confused mutterings. Bellatrix, completely in control, helped to support Harry out of the ring and almost out of the door before a final backwards glance revealed a _real_ cause for alarm.

Selwyn's stared back at her through the crowd, triumph written across his weasel-like face.


	13. Chapter 13

As soon as it had appeared, the face was gone, swallowed by the enormous crowd, still confused over the murder of the duelist. Panicked, Bellatrix scanned the sea of bodies, searching for the one that could ruin everything, the one that would need to be neutralized. She should have known not to visit the same club twice, to keep moving on…. She cursed her own stupidity – she had been too damn _comfortable_! She had had the pendant to protect her, and Harry's lessons were going well…. Routine was the ruin of the best witch or wizard.

There! Deep within the hive of activity, Bellatrix spotted him. But this time it was not Slewyn that stared back at her, but Dolohov, another of her old companions.

The realization hit Bellatrix about the same time as it hit Dolohov. With a look of excitement, Dolohov turned around and gestured wildly to a person or persons unknown, elated that _he_ had been the one to spot the target. Perhaps it would be enough to earn the favor of the Dark Lord, or, more to the point, enough to avoid his wrath.

Bellatrix didn't wait to discover which of her old associates were chasing her. She just prayed that her husband wasn't among them. That would make things…complicated. Muffling a groan, she caused the door to collapse in upon itself with a harsh slash, her spell indiscernible from a steady stream of profanities.

"Quick, Harry, the second house on the right!" she hissed over her shoulder. But Harry was in no state for this newest development; still recovering from the duel, he stumbled confusedly towards Bellatrix. Evidently he wasn't fast enough; a faint Blasting Curse was barely audible behind the caved-in door, and Bellatrix grabbed Harry's hand, dragging him across the street and through the doorway of a house. She released him once they had reached the back kitchen of the two-story bungalow.

"Harry, can you understand me? " She slapped him across the face in a desperate attempt to rouse him from his half-awake state. "Harry, listen to me, you need to understand….I don't have time to explain now, but – " She withdrew an empty vial from inside her cloak and, slowly pulling a glistening thread from her temple with her wand, filled the vial and handed it to Harry. "Here, this will explain everything you can know." Then, a dark shadow passed over her face and a look of profound sadness entered her eyes. "No," she whispered softly, "no, that won't be enough…." She coaxed another gleaming memory from her head, her wand barely steady enough to feed it, too, into the vial, where it mixed seamlessly with the first. "Here. This will explain everything. It holds the truth; protect it with your life." Her voice dropped to a whisper and Harry had to strain to hear her next words.

"This is also for you." She produced a letter sealed with a thick red H. Harry's letter from Hogwarts. "Give this to a man named Snape. Severus Snape. He will know what to do. He will understand. Trust no one, and especially not anyone who claims to have known me fifteen years ago. They are lying. They didn't really know me. Except—," she hesitated again. "Snape. You can trust him. He will be at a school called Hogwarts. The Death Eaters will have cast Anti-Disapperation jinxes, you need to reach the edge of their perimeter before you can leave. Apperate to Hogsmead, it's a little village just outside of the school. Ask someone for directions to the castle, they all know the way. And Harry?" Her voice cracked. "Just – be safe."

Harry had never before seen his mother upset. She had been angry, or pleased when he had mastered a particularly difficult spell, but now, her impeccable control was slipping, and he could see the mask cracking. His throat closed. He didn't want to leave her to do whatever it was that scared her so badly. His mother wasn't scared of anything. She was invincible—but now she was visibly shaking, trembling at the thought of what was to come.

"Mom, I don't want to leave you here. Where are you going to go? What are you going to _do_?"

"Now, hush! I won't be staying _here_. I will be running in the opposite direction from you. You are a nameless child. I am…." Bellatrix faltered, as though she didn't quite know how to complete that sentence. "I am not. They will go after me. You will go to Hogwarts and be safe."

"No! " said Harry in a hoarse scream too loud for Bellatrix's preference, as she hastily shushed him. "No, I want to stay! I can fight! I can help you!"

"You can't fight these people, Harry," she said wearily, "You can't help me now. I'll be fine."

"Promise?"

A single tear fell.

"Yes I promise. Now run for that lamppost. No, _that_ one, about a mile away—that should be far enough. Run as fast as you can, and don't turn back, not for anything, do you hear me?" She shook him roughly by the shoulders, trying to pull her own self together. "No matter what you hear. They will try to lure you back with false images or sounds. They will try to make you think that I am calling you back, or screaming in pain." Bellatrix swallowed hard. "It is a trick, a lie. I will be fine—"

A voice about a block away floated through the open window. Bellatrix swore. "Go! Now! "

Still Harry lingered.

"Get! Leave! Get out of here! I will be fine!"

Finally, Harry reluctantly approached the open window, and, in one swift motion, he was gone into the night, as though he couldn't bear to remain there a second longer, in the fear of losing his nerve. Bellatrix heard footsteps, pounding out a path through Muggle backyards, desperate to reach the lamp post, desperate for this night to be over. With a look of grim satisfaction, Bellatrix sighed. Now it was time for her part. She only regretted that the last thing she had said to her son was a lie.

Steeling herself against the brisk night air, she strode out the front door, not bothering to muffle her own footsteps as she had done for Harry as he ran to safety. She would have no such luxury.

She, too, began to run, faster than she had ever cared or needed to go before. She ran faster than she thought possible, aided by magic, with a single image in her mind's eye. She felt eyes upon her, heard a Death Eater call out a warning to the others. They were taking the bait. At least five pairs of feet followed her, five ragged breaths that mirrored her own as they formed a semi-circle behind her, cutting off all escape. There was no way left to go now but forward. Ducking into an alley to dodge a Stunner, Bellatrix cringed. It had started. That was the signal for open fire. She would know. She had given it many times before. They had to be close, now.

She _thought_ she had bought Harry enough time. She would not give up yet, though. There was still a chance…. If she could slip out of the alley and beyond the boundary she could still Disapperate and meet Harry in Hogsmead. She pushed herself harder. Her feet seemed to inch closer and closer to the mouth of the alley. She would make it after all!

One hundred feet to go and a figure stepped out in front of her. Bellatrix stopped short. He had been there the whole time, just waiting for dramatic effect. So then it could be none other than –

"Lucius."

"Bellatrix. Care to tell me why you aren't dead?"

"Care to tell me why you're such an insufferable ponce?" A thousand knives pierced her skin, carving up every inch of available flesh – a reward for her impertinence.

"Tut, tut, play nice now, Bella…. The niceties must be observed." A sarcastic smile played around the corner of his lips; Bellatrix hissed. The circle around her was gradually filled in as more Death Eaters caught up to them.

"I will ask you again – where have you been?"

"Nowhere in particular. Going for a stroll."

Bellatrix gestured to the alley around her with just a trace of sarcasm.

"Is that what you told Yaxlely when he came calling?"

So they knew.

"Bellatrix?" A voice broke through the rest, sounding, unlike Malfoy, as though he had just happened upon her wandering through a park somewhere. A chance meeting instead of a planned one.

"Bellatrix, oh thank God! You're alive! And we all thought….Rodulphus will be ecstatic! We hadn't dared hope, but he never gave up on you, you know. Never stopped looking, as soon as we were out of Azkaban. He refused to believe what they were all telling him. But he was right. Here you are!"

Rabaston Lestrange's voice rose from a low, almost accusatory tone, to a cheerful one; he, at least, was glad to find his sister-in-law unharmed. Bellatrix's face contorted at the mention of her husband, but something else lay buried in her face, as well. Something that looked suspiciously like guilt.

"I hate to break up the family reunion here, but in case you missed the point of this little get-together, Rabastion, we have a job to do. On the Dark Lord's orders."

Bellatrix's heart raced. Malfoy jerked his head toward her in some sort of a signal to Dolohov.

"Now, wait just a minute. He told us to find her and bring her to him, not attack her. This wasn't part of the plan."

"He said 'bring her with force, if necessary'. Or will you argue with the Dark Lord, as well?" Malfoy's tone was low and threatening.

"I'm saying that Bellatrix is a faithful servant of our Lord. I don't know any more than you do why she is here and not with Him, but I don't suppose you will find out unless you ask her."

"I find that there are much more _effective_ ways of obtaining information, actually."

"Torture will do you no good," he asserted with confidence.

"You think?" Malfoy fingered his wand lightly with a bored expression on his face. "I suppose it isn't my specialty, torturing clueless people until they finally crack, and getting several of my accomplices thrown in Azkaban in the process, but I might have a go at it….new-found talents, and all that."

Rabaston made a motion to respond, but Bellatrix silenced him with a hand on his shoulder.

"This isn't your battle to fight. You have done your duty here. You can tell my, well, you can tell Rodulphus that you defended me against _him_." She jerked her head toward Lucius. "An overblown bully, given an ounce of power, who would be well to spend more time on his spell-work than his peacocks. And, yes, I do literally mean _on_ them."

Lucius's eyes flashed and he made a movement toward his wand, but before he could verbalize exactly _why_ she should be careful not to anger him, his protests were cut short with a simple,

"Go to hell, Malfoy."

And then Bellatrix did something that no one expected – she broke her wand in half, destroying all evidence that a boy named Harry Black had ever existed.

Five Stunners hit her at the same time, and Bellatrix was thrown backwards, hitting the brick wall behind her with enough force to take down a baby elephant. The breath was forcibly stolen from her lungs, and she heard several nasty _cracks_ before she mercifully blacked out.


	14. Chapter 14

Harry ran, his sneakers sending wet mud splattering up the back of his legs. It must have rained recently. The lamppost shone in the distance, the light at the end of the tunnel that Harry's vision had become. If he could only reach the lamppost, then everything would be OK.

Harry heard a very faint thud, and then a collective shout. Or had the shout come first? He didn't know. He only knew how to run. Finally, an eternity later, Harry thrust his hand out, like a relay runner passing off the baton to the final sprinter, and touched the rusted black metal, small in comparison to the immense proportions it had grown to inside his head, consuming his thoughts, actions, wishes, and desires. The lamppost.

Nothing happened.

Harry tried to remember what came next, but his mind firmly resisted his attempts to retrieve his mother's instructions. Where was he to go? What was he to do? If he didn't find the meeting place, surely his mother would just come and find him. He wouldn't have to wait for long, he was sure of it.

Harry sat on the hard pavement, waiting.

Waiting….

With a start, Harry jerked awake. The sun, a ripe peach hovering on the horizon, was just beginning to peek its head over the edge of the world, and dawn began to break, ushering in a host of faint yellows and gentle oranges. He had had the strangest dream.

He looked up – and found himself staring up into the face of the homeless man who had nudged him awake with his foot just a moment before. Upon seeing his discovery show signs of life, the man shuffled off into the shadows, searching for any other treasures that the night might have left for him.

Harry yawned and considered going back to sleep. The pavement wasn't bad, not really. A bit dirty, but he didn't mind that. He was just so _tired_. But why wasn't he in his bed, at home? How had he come to be lying on that particular patch of concrete? Where was his mother? What had _happened_ last night?

Harry tried to remember. He got the impression that he had been running somewhere, his sneakers pounding an uneven path across the grass and mud. Had he been running to this spot, or somewhere else entirely? Through the fog, Harry could make out his mother, smiling. Disjointed phrases floated up through his memory. "Run", "Snape", "Dumbledore", "don't trust". How curious. Harry wondered vaguely who he wasn't supposed to trust, Snape or this Dumbledore, or if they were indeed the same person.

He was still very tired. Almost like he had been poisoned, or else hit his head very hard, both of which he had had experience with through the course of his training. The image of a young man triumphantly holding his fist in the air wormed its way to the surface of his mind. He seemed to be very tall, like a building looming over him. But the man's face looked strange, as though Harry was staring up at him. Had he been lying on the ground then, too? And who had he been running from? Was his mother OK?

Thoroughly confused now by his defective memory, which was tauntingly showing him just enough of the overall picture as to keep him from giving up entirely at working out the previous day's events, Harry reluctantly pulled himself to his feet.

He wondered what he should do next. But after waiting there for another few minutes and still unable to make any sense of his surroundings, he could wait no longer. He had been there for at least eight hours. Surely his mother would have come to him by now, had she been able to.

Staggering to catch his balance by grabbing the lamppost, the two names once again drifted to the surface of the one-way mirror his mind had become. "Snape, Dumbledore. Snape, Dumbledore. Snape, Dumbledore." His feet marched to their rhythm. "Snape, Dumbledore. Snape, Dumbledore. Snape, Dumbledore."

Harry spied a café and stumbled toward it, noting that both women sitting at the tables in front of the cheery little building were carrying wands. Possible threats. He pushed open the door and walked inside, a task that would have been made much easier if there hadn't been three doors to choose from, all swimming across his field of vision. His head was killing him.

"A bit too much Firewhiskey last night?" the woman at the counter asked sagely. "Try this, it will help." Harry gratefully accepted a cup of something and drank it. It burned the back of his throat, but stabilized his vision.

"Thanks!" Harry gasped. "Er, I don't have any money to pay for this…"

"Don't you worry about it, dearie. Just tell your friends about us. Hogwarts, I expect? Or are you foreign?"

Hogwarts…. Without even bothering to answer the woman's question, Harry asked, "You wouldn't happen to know a Snape Dumbledore, would you?"

"No, sorry love, that name doesn't ring any bells. I do know of an _Albus_ Dumbledore, though; maybe he's related to your Snape Dumbledore? Rather unusual last name. I take it you must be foreign, then. He lives up at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. He's the headmaster, you know. Quite brilliant. Bit eccentric, though, I heard. If you do decide to go and visit, you'll have to Apparate to the village of Hogsmead and walk the rest of the way. Security measures. I have a sister up there. Rosmerta."

Harry was rendered speechless by how smoothly things were turning out. Or perhaps that was just a side effect of the potion. He managed to choke out a 'thank you' to the woman and strode back out the door with newfound confidence. He would just have to go on up and talk to this Dumbledore and sort this whole mess out. Harry crossed into a neighboring alley and, thinking "Hogsmead!" as hard as he could, turned on his heel and disappeared.

Bellatrix's eyes snapped open, suddenly alert, her mind buzzing with its first activity in twelve hours. Her body, very stiff after being pressed up against a cold brick wall for half a day, screamed in protest as she attempted to shift her position, but the manacles allowed for very little movement. She half-heartedly struggled against the chains for a moment, and then, bowing to the inevitable, resigned herself to simply glaring defiantly at the heavy wooden door that completed her prison, as if it were responsible for her present misery. In a way, it was. She willed it to open, but to no avail. The door stayed shut and the chains stayed firm, the manacles having already rubbed her wrists raw.

Her splitting headache was making it difficult to concentrate. Her previous injuries had all vanished, some reduced to nothing more than another scar, criss-crossing her arms, legs, and torso. They wound their way up her body, snake-like. They told her life's story, laid out in plain terms. Each one had a memory, repeated a hundred times. Each one screamed of her own weakness. She usually kept them hidden.

But the Death Eaters would have removed any previous traces of magic, in addition to healing all old wounds, such as those sustained during the capture. It was standard procedure. It made what was to come so much more painful, allowed the interrogator to start with a fresh, whole body, and denied them no amount of pain to cause. That night, if she survived that long, she was sure they would do the same again. And then repeat the day's fun a second time the next day. And a third, until the victim broke or lost his or her sanity. Whichever came first.

She wasn't sure if she would fancy insanity. But as the former wasn't a choice at all, the latter was the only option left. Insanity. Or perhaps, if her dear old friends were feeling generous, an early death.

All this time, Bellatrix had been carefully surveying her surroundings, her eyes sharp, looking for anything that might be of the slightest use. The only problem was that there was exactly nothing in her cell. She saw that she had been given deluxe accommodations; her cell was slightly larger than the rest, allowing for easy maneuvering. Trying very hard not to think about what the extra room would be needed for, Bellatrix continued her inventory. Her hands and feet were both manacled and attached to the wall by relatively short chains. A chink of light could be seen through the tiny barred hole at the top of the door, contrasting with the ravenous darkness of the cell. She couldn't hear anything, but for the steady drip of water in the shadowy corner.

She couldn't hear anyone.

That wasn't good. Either the Death Eaters had sent her to a remote, sparsely populated prison for only the most dangerous of enemies and she was amid the Death Eaters' Most Wanted, or they were currently in a period known as the Preparation Time, during which the interviewer prepared to extract as much information as possible from the target, and the interviewee prepared for the revelation that the philosophy "mind over matter" depended on how much "matter" there was to deal with, and whether that matter was seeping through one's robes and dripping softly to the floor, forming a great crimson mirror, reflecting back each one of the atrocities committed above.

Every prisoner anticipated the worst during Preparation Time, fears that theirs will be the next cell door to bang rudely against the unforgiving stone walls and signal impending doom. But only one would hear the sound of footsteps grow nearer and nearer, would overhear disjointed phrases of a calm, easy conversation, its owner in no hurry at all. One would watch with dread as the door inched open, and would finally welcome their guest with wracking sobs, knowing what was to come.

The screams would start.

And in the surrounding cells, the prisoners would relax and settle back into the uncomfortable chains, hearing the agony, glad it wasn't them.

Bellatrix strained her ears against the darkness, her heart pounding, dreading the approaching footsteps.


	15. Chapter 15

**A/N Sorry for the delay; this chapter was really hard for me to get inspired to write. In the end, I was motivated along by all the reviews, so that should be motivation to **_**you**_** to R&R! Enjoy **

Crack! Harry was rudely thrust out of nothingness onto the barren sidewalk, falling to his knees and coloring the pavement with a few lonely drops of blood. The shops on either side of him loomed over his crippled figure, an ominous sign. Harry had never been superstitious, believing in his own ability rather than fate or destiny, but he couldn't help but shiver as a warm summer breeze wafted over the small village. The sooner he found this Hogwarts, the better.

Using a variety of choice words that would have made his mother proud, he scrambled to his feet and hoped that none of the villagers had noticed his ungraceful entrance. But he needn't have worried; evaluating his surroundings, he noticed with surprise that the sleepy village was only just waking. It must still have been very early in the morning. Harry realized with a shock that he didn't even know what day of the week it was.

As he walked along the wide road running down the middle of the quaint town, Harry observed signs of life awakening around him. A man flicked his wand, changing the "closed" sign to "open", and springing the shop's door ajar. A woman stepped outside and charmed a broom to begin sweeping the sidewalk in front of her home. The barkeep of a sketchy looking pub began to sleepily clean filthy mugs with an equally filthy rag.

Several buildings down, another door opened, and a cat was bodily tossed out the front door, where it proceeded to saunter down the street in a dignified manner, causing Harry to jump slightly as it hissed, defending its home against the undesirable intruder. The cat coughed up a hairball, which promptly caught fire, motivating Harry to continue his stroll, or rather run, now, through the village, all the while cursing those infernal Hogwarts students, whoever they were, and their magically modified cat. Harry was so intent upon putting distance between himself and the cat that he nearly ran into a plump old man opening his sweets shop for the day.

"Sorry," Harry mumbled, and then added, "That damn cat!" The man did not seem to be offended by their meeting; on the contrary, his enormous belly was shaking with laughter.

"Oh, so you've met Sparky, have you? Yes, a rather amusing prank gone a bit wrong, but we haven't been able to put him quite right again, so for now he's the village guard cat. Bet you haven't been anywhere else that could say that, eh!"

He once again let out a great rumble of laughter and a disgruntled Harry found himself wondering if he shouldn't just Apperate to the other side of the village and hope for better luck there. He had to find his mother; what would she have done if a fat man with a candy shop had laughed at her? The thought brought a smile to his lips. His mother had a very sharp tongue. The man obviously took Harry's smile to be a sign of good humor, because he clapped a meaty hand on his shoulder, nearly bringing him to his knees for a second time, and continued to laugh with renewed gusto.

"You wouldn't happen to be able to point me in the direction of Hogwarts, would you?" Harry gasped, desperate for an escape.

"Hm? Hogwarts, you say? It's right up that hill over there. Bit of a hike, but it certainly is a beautiful morning for a walk. I would join you, but I really should finish up here." He glanced reluctantly over his shoulder at the door to his shop, standing expectantly open behind him. "Whew, I haven't had a good laugh like that in days!" He wiped a tear from his eye and asked, "What did you say your name was?"

Harry personally thought that the man must not get much company. "My name's Harry."

"Well, Harry, I hope to see you again soon! Feel free to drop on in anytime!" With a jolly wink, he turned and lumbered back through his door, whistling merrily. Harry, who had never met a more cheerful person in his life and found it not at all to his taste, was very glad that he would not have any company, and gratefully started the trek to the school, alone.

A half an hour later, just as Harry was beginning to wonder if the man hadn't been on some hallucinogen and given him completely wrong directions, something caught his eye: a tower, poking through the boundary that the horizon posed. Quickening his step, Harry rounded a bend – and gasped. A huge stone castle stood, not five minutes away, somehow more magnificent than any of the Muggle buildings he had before beheld. The Cathedral at Notre Dame, the Eiffel Tower, Windsor Palace, all paled in comparison to this…school. Hogwarts. The name felt right. This was Hogwarts.

Breathing in deeply, Harry smelled something he could only describe as _magic_. The tips of his fingers tingled. Somehow he realized that whatever he had known before this, whatever magic he had previously encountered, this building would put it to shame.

It was dangerous.

His mother's words rang in his ears. "Trust no one."

She was right. He couldn't afford to fall victim to enchantment, or to this Snape Dumbledore. He had to find his mother. And if Dumbledore or Snape had information about where she could be, then he needed to talk to them, as soon as possible. Knowledge was power.

He stretched his endurance to run to the castle, to run his hands over the rough stone, whispering of mysteries to uncover, secrets to unearth. As he felt the alien spells coursing beneath his fingers, it dawned upon him that for the first time in his life, he didn't know what to do. No one was there to guide him, to teach him the counter-spells. He was totally alone.

He was scared.

For Snape, that afternoon was like any other; he sat in the depths of the castle, pretending not to mind the cold stone that surrounded him, suppressing a shudder as a miserable draft whipped through his dungeon. His fortress. He forced his mind to focus on the papers in front of him, on the present, and inwardly winced when his mind would drift from the monotonous task, back to a time before grading papers had become his fate. Just as he was scrawling a particularly vicious comment, not bothering to confine his cramped writing to the margin, Filch burst into his office, wheezing.

"Mr. Filch?" he drawled, bored already with the encounter.

"Sir," he gasped, "a boy—outside—stroking the castle wall."

"A student?" Snape asked sharply.

"No," Filch gulped, finally regaining his breath. "Bedraggled little troublemaker. Looks like he's been for a stroll in the Forbidden Forest: clothes torn and covered in mud, and hair looks like he belongs in prison." Snape leapt from his chair, and an alarmed Filch hurriedly continued, "I'd send 'im there myself, but after last time, the Headmaster specifically prohibited—"

"Take me to him," Snape commanded.

"But, sir, the Headmaster's still at lunch –"

"Not the Headmaster, imbecile, the boy!"

"R-right you are! This way."

Filch's shuffling steps, followed by Snape's impatient gait, attracted a few curious stares, but Snape ignored them. If it really _was_ him...if something had happened….

Harry had completed his journey, found Hogwarts. He just had no idea how to get in. If anything, his inspection of the castle walls had revealed them to be more impenetrable than he had previously thought. The castle was protected by a powerful magic that he could not hope to break through on his own, and the wrought iron gate that blocked his progress said very clearly that Hogwarts was not welcome to visitors.

Just as Harry was debating as to whether he could at least _attempt_ to break through the enchantments on the gate without sustaining serious harm, enough to attract him a bit of attention from within the castle, something emerged from a side door, about one hundred feet away. At first glance, it appeared to be an oversized bat, but upon further inspection, he determined it to be a man, the wind catching his cloak and inflating it to immense proportions behind him.

Harry turned back to the wall one last time, but before he could once again face the approaching attacker (no, he reminded himself, stranger), someone roughly grabbed his wrist. Looking up, Harry found himself face to face with a sallow-faced man with stringy black hair. Suddenly, the man loosened his grip, and his face was seized with utter shock and horror. He knew something. Taking advantage of the situation, Harry pulled his arm away and drew his wand with the reflexes of one who has been trained to expect an attack.

"Legilimens!" he fiercely thought, sending the man reeling.

_A pretty, red-headed girl smiles at a lonely boy, and puts a reassuring hand on his shoulder. He smiles back, and they both rise and make to reenter a huge stone room that is visible beyond two great wooden doors, walking side-by-side. _

_That same girl and boy are huddled over a cauldron, laughing at the purple haze that slowly drifts over the black brim. They look to be in a restroom, and Harry can't help but wonder if there isn't a better place to brew potions at Hogwarts. The boy cautiously pulls a vial out from his cloak and dunks it into the great cauldron, filling it with a suspicious green liquid. Swiftly, he downs the whole lot in one gulp, and his hair begins to shift color, slowly at first, then more rapidly, determined to exhaust the entire spectrum of colors. The girl doubles over laughing, red faced, and the boy frantically pulls at his hair, clearly not expecting the result._

_The scene shifts a third time. "Leave him alone, Black!" the girl screams at the back of a retreating teenager, and then turns to the boy beside her ,who is sporting a bloody nose. "We have to get you to Madame Pomfrey! Urg, Sirius Black is such an absolute _toad_!" _

"_I'm fine," the other insists, obstinate. "I won't let Potter and his little gang make a fool of me."_

"_Oh, Severous, he only is making a fool of himself, attacking every bloody person to walk down the hall." The girl gives an impressive snort and the boy, Severus, looks relieved. "Now come along, she'll put you right and we might make it to Potions on time!" The pair walks down the corridor, both looking hopeful, though Harry got the impression it was for two very different reasons._

_The boy, now suspended by his ankle, red-faced and embarrassed, "I don't need your help, you filthy Mudblood!" he yells at the girl. She looks shocked, as though he has slapped her. Bubbles appear in his mouth, conjured by some unseen party, and the girl flips her hair, as though to show him that she doesn't really care at all, and walks away._

_The same boy, now a man, stares down at the body of the red-headed woman, his childhood friend, horrified, tears glistening in his eyes. Turning on his heel with sudden purpose, he disappears._

_The man lays, paralyzed, in a pool of what Harry hoped is dragon's blood. His mother smiles and confidently walks from the room, not once turning back._

Suddenly, something like an electric shock jerked him from the memories and back to the present. The man looked wary, now, and regarded him carefully, as though he were a wild dog that might attack at any moment.

"You know my mother."

"Yes." His answer was terse.

"Who was the other woman?"

"Other?"

"Yeah, the one from the first few memories."

"She –" The man cut himself off and looked at Harry oddly.

Feeling that it was time to end this rather strange encounter, Harry asked, "Do you know a Snape, or a Dumbledore?"

He nodded mutely.

"Take me to them, please."

"Who told you to ask for those people?" But, of course, he knew the answer.

"My mother."

"Where is she now?"

But Harry seemed to think that he had already said too much; clearly done speaking, he closed his lips tightly and refused to answer.

"Where is she?" Snape repeated, his voice icily calm. A voice that was used to having his questions answered.

Harry looked at him with something like disgust in his eyes.

Sighing inwardly, Snape sent Filch to fetch the Headmaster and then began what he was sure would be a silent journey to Dumbledore's office, accompanied by a boy named Harry Potter.

The boy just didn't know it.


	16. Chapter 16

As Harry descended yet another great marble staircase, he was struck once again by the sheer _enormity_ of the castle that seemed to have swallowed him alive. Yet, he saw no alternative to subjecting himself to this feeling of being consumed, to coming to Hogwarts and following this stranger through its winding hallways. His mother was out there, somewhere, and he, Harry, had no idea as to where that might be. There was an ocean of possibilities before him, and without the help these people could offer, he would surely drown, and his mother, disappear.

As he delved further into the labyrinth of corridors, attempting to keep pace with the long black cloak he was following, Harry couldn't help but notice the obvious signs of magic around him. Everything seemed to possess the ability to move; from the portraits to the staircases, and even the suits of armor, Hogwarts was in a constant state of motion.

Something about the ceaseless activity made Harry feel oddly empty. He was truly alone here, struggling deeper into the maze of corridors, unable to even tell where he was being led. The hallways were oddly quiet – Harry supposed that most of the students must be at dinner – but every now and again, a harried face would rush past, another nameless face.

At last, after innumerable passages, corners, and floating staircases, Harry sighed in relief as his guide stopped before a stone eagle, and stated what seemed to be a password of sorts (Lemon Drop), before fixing the bird with an expectant look. But the statue took its time, as though sensing Harry's impatience. He wished that the eagle would hurry up and move, already, if that was indeed what it was supposed to do. Every second that he stood here, motionless, was another moment he could be out searching for his mother.

The greasy-haired man also seemed to think the statue was taking an unreasonable amount of time; irritably repeating the password, he then graced the stone with an icy glare. The eagle, for its part, did not move, though it did stick its tongue out at the unfortunate man when he wasn't looking.

Harry stood for a moment in utter disbelief. They had reached their destination only to find it locked. Didn't these people understand that his mother was missing? He surveyed his surroundings, resolving to memorize every last detail of the space; after all, one of his first lessons had been to always be familiar with one's surroundings, as an intimate knowledge of a possible battlefield was a huge advantage.

Allowing himself a last glare at the eagle, Harry shifted his gaze down the hallway where a cat with blood red eyes stood resolute, fixing him with a hard stare. Remembering his previous encounter with "Sparky", Harry decided that he didn't like the species very much. They seemed to be much more trouble than they were worth.

But as soon as he made up his mind to commit to memory every aspect of the space, he was distracted by the horde of students that came surging down the corridor, most likely signifying that dinner had ended.

Two girls giggled as they walked past him, and Harry started slightly at the odd noise. Harry had been in large crowds before, at the duel clubs, but this was somehow different. He had no one standing beside him, protecting him. Suddenly, Harry felt very exposed indeed.

With a slight shiver, he turned back to face the resolutely immobile bird. Harry hoped that this Snape man would arrive quickly.

Snape stood very still, various scenarios running through his mind. What could have possibly prompted Bellatrix to leave the boy she regarded as her own son, perverted though that concept may be? The last time he had seen her, she was certainly strong enough to fend for herself. If Dumbledore's orders had been to bring Harry to Hogwarts, he entertained no delusions that he would have been successful. And Snape very much doubted that Bellatrix would normally allow someone to stride into her home, as he had done. No, if she had wanted to, she could have easily avoided him that night. It would have taken a massive effort on the part of the Death Eaters to bring her in, even with their ranks swollen by the recent Azkaban breakouts, and he doubted very much the Ministry's ability to execute such a high-profile arrest with no word leaking to outside sources.

Maybe this was all some elaborate plan. Bellatrix couldn't _actually_ be in danger. She was too careful, too experienced, for something like this to happen. She had been the Dark Lord's lieutenant, for God's sake! Even now, in taking the boy to Dumbledore, he could be playing into her manipulative hands. But if she really were in trouble…what would he do? What _could_ he do?

Snape found that he didn't know the answer to either question.

It was at that moment that Harry spotted a man in midnight blue robes parting the sea of students, walking directly toward them with something like purpose in his step, and somehow Harry knew that this was the man they had been waiting for. Harry's relieved sigh seemed to startle his companion out of his thoughts.

"Dumbledore," the bat-like man acknowledged as a way of greeting.

"Changed the password last night," Dumbledore said cheerfully in response to the unspoken question. "Fizzing Whizbee."

The eagle finally began to spiral upward with an undignified snort, revealing a flight of stone stairs. The man called Dumbledore turned and stepped smartly onto the fifth step from the top with the agility of a man half his apparent age, leaving Harry and his escort to follow wordlessly behind him.

Bellatrix hung limply from her chains, her own weight now a source of pain as the shackles dug into her raw wrists, and she suppressed a groan as a trickle of warmth slowly dripped down her arm. Wearily, she raised her head slightly, her vision swimming and her breath becoming more labored as her chest constricted. Holding herself as proudly as her situation would allow, she glared at her attacker, who stood before her, recovering his breath after two hours of inflicting increasingly creative agony.

She thought with relish of his punishment for failing to gain any intelligence, and though it was small consolation, she derived great satisfaction in being able to repay him, in a way, even a fraction of the pain he so liberally provided.

Her brother-in-law would just have to do better.

Her lips, bloody and swollen, twisted into a slight smile, stretching the raw cuts on her face.

She didn't even notice.

Her laugh started out deep, ripping apart her inflamed throat, and ended as a shrill cackle that echoed off the stone walls, tinged with an insanity she was quite sure hadn't been there last week.

Oh well.

Lucius finally stood and met her stare, and from his look of loathing and revulsion, he wasn't as pleased with his handiwork as she was with hers as she beheld his torn sleeve, encrusted with dry blood.

Small victories were all she had left now.

"Damn it, Bellatrix! Just tell me what I want to know. This can end. You don't have to endure this pain any longer."

The cacophonous laughter died away as she pressed her lips together, refusing to speak, refusing to scream, but a faint smile still tugging at the corners of her mouth. "No?"

A flick of his wand and she was in agony, every nerve screaming as though he were punishing her with hot metal rods, applied to every surface of her skin. She was vaguely conscious of her body writhing, like a hooked fish, straining against the chains, which she could barely hear, as though through a veil, clanking desperately.

The pain stopped as quickly as it had begun, and only Bellatrix's wrists remained aflame as the trickle of blood thickened, adding another color to the various shades of yellow that already adorned her abused arms.

But still she refused to make even a single noise.

Opening her eyes required intense focus, but finally she met with success and the room swam hazily around her once more, her captor's livid face prominent against the grays and blacks of her surroundings.

She spat into the flesh-colored blur, her only remaining act of defiance.

Enraged, Lucius raised his wand, a spell coming to his lips, and Bellatrix slumped back against the cold stone, giving herself over once more to the all-encompassing darkness.


	17. Chapter 17

The stone stairs stopped moving with a _clunk_, and the three stepped onto the stone landing, bare aside from the resolute wooden door. The door swung open as Dumbledore approached, and the small group filed into a circular room that could only be described as extraordinary, and Harry's rush was momentarily suspended to take in his surroundings.

Immediately, his gaze was drawn to two magnificent stone columns in the center of the room, which the light seemed to hit in a way that framed the mahogany desk in front of them. Dumbledore's high backed chair sat in the middle of it all, the first thing the eye would be drawn to had he been sitting there, and Harry wondered if this was a purely decorative choice, or if it was in some way reflective of the man's personality.

The small entrance area that he presently occupied was filled with paintings of presumably great witches and wizards, some of whom were moving, and others who were gone entirely. He wondered idly what one had to do to achieve a place of honor in Dumbledore's office. Thin, spindly silver balls that resembled planets in orbit were placed on pedestals circling the room, and behind them, bookshelves stretched from floor to ceiling, some with papers sticking haphazardly out of them; these were the only objects that seemed to have been used at all in this picture perfect space.

Dumbledore waited politely with his hands clasped in front of him for Harry to finish his assessment. Snape, however, was not so polite, and roughly shoved past the boy to stand behind one of the two chairs in front of the desk. However upon reaching the chair, he stopped abruptly and lowered his head in thought. Harry's eyes were drawn from a mysterious object in the back of the office to a new mystery right in front of him, and he curiously regarded this Snape.

Dumbledore respectfully waited a few moments before clearing his throat, and Snape's head snapped back up again, surprise written on his face at finding the pair standing expectantly.

"So Harry, it seems we have much to talk about," Dumbledore began. "Did you know we have been expecting you here at Hogwarts for a very long time?"

"No," Harry answered truthfully.

"On your eleventh birthday we sent someone to deliver your acceptance letter to your residence—"

"Him," Harry nodded toward Snape.

"—but your mother declined our offer."

"She trained me herself," Harry said with a note of pride in his voice.

"I'll bet she did," Snape muttered.

"Do you know why? Why did she keep you away from the Wizarding world for so long? Why did she never even tell you Hogwarts existed?" Dumbledore asked quietly.

"Of course I knew Hogwarts existed! My mother kept me away because something like this would happen. We were safe before. Then we started going out. That's when this happened."

"Your mother had secrets, Harry. She –"

"Sir," Snape interrupted, "shouldn't we _wait_ to have this conversation? We should discuss what happened last night, the events preceding Harry's unannounced arrival here."

Dumbledore squinted at Snape through his half-moon spectacles as though he had never seen him quite clearly before.

"I don't remember," Harry mumbled, ignoring Dumbledore completely.

"What do you mean, you don't remember?" Snape asked sharply, rotating his glare at Dumbledore to Harry.

"I mean, I must have hit my head," Harry stated calmly.

Snape looked supremely irritated. "What were you doing before you hit your head, then?" he asked slowly, as though talking to a small child.

"We were at a club."

Snape looked irritated, as though Harry had lied to him. "Bellatrix took you to a…club?" he stated deliberately, trying and failing to keep the disbelief from coloring his tone.

"Yes. We go all the time, you know, as practice. Mother said that I need to sharpen my skills in a real-life context."

Snape looked utterly shocked, as though this were the absolute last answer he expected to receive. Being at a night club to massacre its inhabitants, or torture someone for information, believable. This? Not so much. "Seriously? You were at a night club?"

"No, of course not. We were at a _dueling_ club." Now it was Harry's turn to look irritated, as though Snape was being stupid on purpose. "None of this matters, though. Mother was supposed to meet me. She never showed up, and the only reason for that is she is currently incapacitated somewhere. Surely someone in this school must have skill as a Tracker."

"Well, that would be simply lovely, if your mother wasn't the most arrogant, paranoid, pain-in-the—"

"Severus!"

"Yes. Well your mother had an amulet. Very rare. Wore it everywhere. It shielded her magical signature from being tracked. Even the most experienced Tracker wouldn't be able to pick up her trail now."

Harry paused. That didn't make sense. But it didn't matter now. "Well, you knew her before I was born. Who would have wanted to hurt her?"

Snape just barely stopped himself from waspishly responding, "Everyone," and instead pondered this statement. He had known Bellatrix. He had known her. He should know, perhaps better than anyone else, where she could be. Why was this somehow surprising?

He thought about the question. Who would want to hurt her? A lot of people. Who would want to _kidnap_ her? He didn't know many people who would go through that kind of trouble for Bellatrix's company. It could be Rodulphus. He heard that he had gotten out of prison. But Bellatrix would never have gone with him, and she was strong enough to overpower him. The Death Eaters, then. They were the only ones that would have the power and motivation. The Ministry or Order he would have heard about. Where would the Death Eaters have taken her? Any number of secret prisons, probably. She could be anywhere.

"Harry, even if we do manage to find your mother, there are some things that you need to know," Dumbledore said after a moment of silence.

"Sir, this is not the appropriate time –" Snape cut in, though he did not quite know why he didn't want to lay out in front of this boy exactly the situation they were now in. He could feel Dumbledore silently cast _Muffliato_.

"Severus, it has to be done."

"It is not our place."

"Bellatrix had her chance. Considering the circumstances, I think this is very much the time."

"It won't change the outcome of any of this."

"Maybe Harry will remember something when informed of the context."

"And maybe he will shut down and refuse to remember anything. We need him to be open to our suggestions, to trust us. We need him to tell us what Bellatrix has been doing for the past fifteen years."

"He will if he no longer feels bound to her confidence."

"He won't if he feels it no longer matters."

"Even the son of Bellatrix Lestrange couldn't be so cold."

Snape said nothing, his face ever impassive, though creased at the mouth, voicing his silent disapproval, both of the characterization, and the implicit decision.

Dumbledore lifted _Muffliato_, and a perplexed Harry, who seemed to understand that he had just been left out of an important conversation about him, fixed the pair of them with a stony glare.

"Harry, your mother wasn't who you thought she was. She did some very bad things. She's killed people. A lot of people. She is, well, she used to be a very prolific supporter of Voldemort. She did a lot in his name, was one of the first Death Eaters. That is who probably took her. They want her back again. She married one of them when she was very young. Her husband recently broke out of prison. Do you remember any mention of him, or the Death Eaters?"

Harry looked stunned. "She killed people?"

"Yes."

"How many?"

Dumbledore shook his head. "I don't know. I doubt if even she does anymore."

"Why was her husband in prison?" Harry asked numbly.

Dumbledore hesitated before responding. "He was there for being an accomplice in the torture of two Aurors after Voldemort disappeared. The Death Eaters thought that the pair knew where their master had gone. They were tortured into insanity. Bellatrix was…gifted."

Harry tried to digest this new information, and failed. His mother, a murderer? He could picture it, the flash of her wand, a body splayed in an alley. But in his mind, it was in self-defense, protecting him as she had always done. This new picture, of her torturing defenseless people whose job it was to protect others, just didn't make sense. These people didn't know what they were saying. They had the wrong person, obviously. Coming here was a mistake.

"And Harry, I know this will be hard to hear, but there is one last thing you need to know. Bellatrix…. Well, she raised you because something bad happened. Your parents died. Voldemort killed them." Dumbledore hammered the final nail in the coffin with practiced ease.

"No, she is my mother. No, this cannot be true." The calm mask that Harry had worn with a practiced ease melted, and Snape could tell that the boy was on the verge of breaking down. He had had a part in this. Sickened, Snape realized that Dumbledore would have what he needed now. A puppet to do his will, to defeat Voldemort. It needed to be done, but as he watched Harry sink to the floor, he couldn't help but wish there had been another way. They would get no more information from him tonight.

A hollow knocking interrupted Snape's moral scruples, and sweeping over to the door, desperate to escape the scene before him, Snape found waiting for him a confused Professor McGonagall.

"Minerva? I'm afraid the Headmaster is rather occupied at the moment."

Raising an eyebrow at the distraught boy in the center of the room, she said rather sternly, "My presence was requested by Professor Dumbledore in regards to a sensitive situation. He said that it was urgent."

Nodding his head, Snape stepped aside and allowed the severe looking woman to step past him into the office.

"Minerva, this is Harry Potter," Dumbledore said by way of greeting, and Harry started at hearing his full name.

"But – Albus – my word, _how_ –"

"He has been in the care of Bellatrix Lestrange for the past fifteen years. It appears a situation has arisen which has interrupted this rather precarious arrangement, and he has come to stay with us until she can be recovered."

"Recovered? Bellatrix _Lestrange_?" Professor McGonagall asked faintly.

"I would ask that discretion be used with this information."

"Obviously," McGonagall managed, "I won't tell the castle that the adopted son of Bellatrix Lestrange has come for a visit, and, by the way, he is also the Boy Who Lived that we have all been mourning for the past fifteen years."

She turned to regard the boy who was sitting, completely motionless, on the floor. "Albus, what happened to him? Did Bellatrix do this?"

"It seems she failed to inform him of his true parentage, and Harry was, well, understandably shocked."

McGonagall's face softened. "He can stay in my House. It's what James and Lily would have wanted. I'll tell the students that he's a transfer."

Dumbledore nodded. McGonagall took a few hesitant steps toward Harry, and, receiving no rebuke from Dumbledore, gently took his hand and pulled him to his feet. Meeting no resistance from the numb boy, Minerva McGonagall gripped Harry firmly by the wrist and led him back through the wooden door and onto the stone stairs, hoping that the shell of a boy she had taken charge of would be ready to meet his new House-mates.

_OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO OOOOOOOOO_

The door to Dumbledore's office shut with a dejected thud. Snape sat in absolute silence as Dumbledore began to whistle merrily, tinkering with a spindly silver object that served no apparent purpose.

Finally, Snape spoke. "This is a mess. Do you think the boy was being truthful?"

The tune of the whistling slowed as Dumbledore considered the question. "Yes, Severus, I do," he said.

"But how is that possible?" Snape exploded. "How did they find her? Why didn't she fight?"

"I think the answer to that is quite obvious," Dumbledore stated calmly.

"Harry."

"Yes. If she really has grown as attached to the boy as you lead me to believe, I find it likely that she wouldn't have wanted to endanger his safety in a fight she wasn't sure they could win."

"What do they want with her?" Snape asked.

"Well, I'm sure Voldemort would love to know what his most faithful lieutenant has been doing for the last decade and a half. Why she didn't come back with the others."

"So this could have nothing to do with Harry?"

"Oh, I would be very surprised if it had anything at all to do with Harry. Bellatrix has been thorough, though her methods were a bit…extreme," Dumbledore responded.

Snape considered this. Bellatrix had been thorough. But he had found her. He had tracked her for ten years before she was any the wiser. Surely Voldemort could have done the same.

But, he reminded himself, he had known what to look for. He had found, very quickly, that magical forms of detection were useless, and had had the patience to look through thousands of Muggle newspapers, something that Voldemort would never degrade himself to. And further, he had been in no shape to track anybody, and had a Death Eater stumbled across her path in those early years, they would have killed her outright, not waited another ten years to do anything. Satisfied, Snape concluded that Dumbledore was right. Bellatrix was a sadistic sociopath that was probably just a bit crazy (though he shuddered to think what fifteen years in Azkaban would have done to her mind), but in the end, she had fulfilled his goal, albeit with slightly more gusto than he had hoped. Harry was safe.

"What are you going to do?" Snape finally asked.

"Me? My dear Severus, I think that you need to ask yourself that question."

"Sir?"

"Bellatrix Lestrange was not a nice person. She hurt people. Killed them, friends of yours and of mine. She had a hand in Lily's death." Dumbledore could feel tension and anger seep into the air. "But she also gave away any chance she had at her former life by agreeing to help you save Harry, and is now being tortured to death by your sworn enemies. So it seems that you have a dilemma, and I could not possibly presume to decide one way or another for you."

"To decide? Is it really our right to decide who lives and who dies?"

"Severus, I have asked myself that for years. Is it right to take a life, when thousands more can be saved? Is it allowable to sacrifice one for the good of the many? Will her life endanger the future of this resistance to Voldemort and his evil?"

"How can anyone know what will happen?"

"No one can. And that's why you must decide. Weight the alternatives, and then make a choice. Just make sure that it's one you can live with."

"Even if by some miracle I find where they're keeping her, sneak her out, and she somehow is alive and sane after everything, she will be facing multiple murder charges. She will be sent to Azkaban anyway."

"Yes. I expect the public would settle for nothing else."

"Would she even want to live? Could she really ever be content to just let events unfold around her, to have no part in the world, to know that everyone considers her to be a dangerous psychopath and to experience her own mind deteriorating into a state where she can't even fathom anything else?"

"Why do you ask _me_ these questions?"

"Because you seem to understand her!"

"Actually, I'm quite sure you understand her better than I."

And with that, Dumbledore, too, exited his office, leaving Snape looking very surprised indeed.


	18. Chapter 18

"What makes you think I even know, Severus?"

"Know the location of your sister? Familial bonds?"

"Where were familial bonds for the last fifteen years?" Narcissa hissed. "She has betrayed this family."

"If that is the case, I want justice as much as you. But the famous Bellatrix Lestrange…I'll believe it when I see it."

"I don't know where she is."

"You lie."

"You dare –," Narcissa spluttered.

"I dare," Snape cut in smoothly. "I give you my word that it is for Draco's sake that I ask at all."

"He doesn't even know of her existence. She _left_ him with that _filthy_ _Squib_!"

"A grievous error indeed. And you have every right to tell him what you please. I don't want to host a family game night, Narcissa."

"Well then, what do you want?"

"Did Lucius really never tell you about the curse?"

Narcissa's eyes narrowed dangerously. "What curse? Don't play games with me, Snape."

Snape gave an exaggerated sigh. "After we realized that Bellatrix had fled, and obviously found your son in the custody of the Squib, Lucius and I, along with the other Inner Circle, conducted a brief investigation."

"Why was I never told about this?! She is my _sister_!"

"Well, seeing as you aren't even close enough to know where she's being tortured…."

Narcissa's glare made him move on. "Yes, well, I say brief because she covered her tracks well, and we never had a solid lead to follow on her whereabouts. Honestly, I thought she had been murdered until a few days ago."

"So you discovered nothing?" Narcissa laughed derisively.

"Not quite. As part of retracing her steps, Lucius and I brought Draco back along the route his aunt carried him through, and we realized that it was possible that she had placed spells on him, to keep him quiet, and the like."

"And did she?"

"No. But she did do – something else. We found traces of a curse," Snape continued through Narcissa's shriek, "of unknown origin, likely to be deadly. We do not know how it works, only that Bellatrix does. Who else beside her would have had the means and opportunity?"

"I will kill that bitch –"

"Yes, yes, well, it would be lovely if we could decipher this thing before you do. But disclosing information of this nature could be dangerous, until a cure is found, so obviously we didn't tell anyone. Lucius and I, and now you, are the only ones to know."

"And now you want me to tell you where she is, so you can force her to un-curse my son."

"Yes. I'm sure Lucius would do it himself, but he hasn't succeeded thus far. You know how stubborn your sister can be."

"Yes. Yes I do," Narcissa muttered absentmindedly, carefully considering her options. But in the end, there was really only one course of action. Snape had estimated his opponent well. But undoubtedly, breaking Bellatrix Lestrange out of a high-security facility wouldn't be as easy as lying to Narcissa Malfoy.

"Fine. I'll tell you. But swear to me that you won't inform the Dark Lord…."

"Of course not. I have always been a friend your family, Narcissa. And I hope to be your friend once more."

"I am going to murder Lucius!"

"He was only trying to protect his son, Narcissa."

"Yes. Well. She's being held at the Avery's secondary estate, the one out in Wales. Now if you'll excuse me, I have to find my husband…"

Narcissa turned around and had all but pulled on the ornate door handle when Snape called out,

"Oh, but Narcissa, I almost forgot."

She half-heartedly turned around, clearly wishing for the conversation to be over.

"What is it now?" She snapped.

"_Obliviate_!"

Narcissa swayed slightly, then, gripping the handle for support, recovered.

"I-where—," she mumbled.

"Narcissa! Are you alright? You don't look well," Snape exclaimed, false concern lacing his voice.

"Snape? What-what happened?"

Snape looked confused. "You asked me over here. I just Apperated in, I thought you were in trouble, and then I find you out here, looking ill."

"Mhm. I must have needed some potion…."

"Well, have this you could try." Snape helpfully pulled a bottle from inside his cloak. "See if you're feeling better after a quarter of this and a long nap."

"Yes, alright. Thank you for your assistance Snape."

"My pleasure. Hope to see you feeling better."

Narcissa ignored his last statement and stumbled through the front door, shutting it behind her with a loud thud.

With a slight grimace at what was to come, Snape briskly walked down the gravel drive, past the ornate black iron gates, and Disapperated.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO OOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Meanwhile, back at Hogwarts, Harry was waking up for the first time in a dormitory.

He awoke as the first chink of daybreak shone through his curtains, and immediately he was awake and alert, the events of the previous day hitting him like a Bludger.

Sitting up very straight, he glanced around him at the still sleeping boys, and wondering vaguely why they, too, weren't up yet, slid out of bed and quickly dressed and tidied his small space, mostly devoid of possessions, and then set off to find the library. He had been confronted the night before by most-likely inaccurate facts about his mother, and he intended to learn the truth.

Bellatrix. He never called his mother by her first name before. It sounded so harsh. Ms. Black, yes, or Bella, but never Bellatrix. And this Lestrange character, the one she had married young. How had he never known? He had no doubt in his mind that it was this man that had set his mother on the wrong course, and that after he was imprisoned, she was free to live her own life, but if he was the son of Lily and James Potter, as Dumbledore contended, how was it that he had come to be raised by someone else? Had they been Death Eaters at the same time as his mother? (If she had in fact been a Death Eater, he reminded himself. Another fact that was most likely falsified by Dumbledore.)

After what must have been an hour of wandering through identical stone hallways, he found the library, with large wooden doors containing tiny glass panels showing glimpses of row upon row of dusty books, it could be nothing else. He pulled forcefully on the iron handle, and the doors rattled but did not open. Locked.

Undeterred, Harry removed his wand from his back pocket and muttered an incantation, and the double doors immediately sprang apart, leaving Harry free to peruse the wealth of knowledge accumulated over the years by Hogwarts.

Which, Harry discovered several hours later, really wasn't much. If one wanted to know a spell, charm, hex, jinx, or even some curses, fine. How to brew a potion, dandy. The correct ingredients to brew a Boiling Brew, alright. But if one wanted to research their perhaps-mother who may or may not have been a war criminal? Look somewhere else.

He had started off the morning searching for a list of the Ancient Families, many of whom had fought on Voldemort's side. If his mother had been one of the first Death Eaters, her surname would be among the Ancients. Finally, hidden in the back of a book about the first Hogwarts students, was a comprehensive list, and sure enough, third to top, Antares Black. The next half an hour was spent trying to find a family tree, which was surprisingly difficult. Eventually, he discovered a section of the library named in honor of the Malfoy Family dedicated to the history of Pureblooded families, and two minutes later, he held in his hand a comprehensive book of the Toujours Pur. The Most Noble and Ancient House of Black.

The back cover was a family tree, and it was astounding how many generations the Black family could trace their heritage. But on the bottom of the winding tree, "Bellatrix Black", and attached with a double bar, "Rodolphus Lestrange".

He checked the Lestrange's book and found the same, and noted with interest that Bellatrix had had two sisters, though no listed children. The book looked to be very old, though, and sure enough, was dated almost twenty years previous. He would not have been born before this book had been published.

Well, then, if he could get no more here, how about from a history of the Second Great War? Surely if Bellatrix had been a war criminal, someone would have kept a record of it? But it seemed that that was not the sort of thing that Hogwarts bought books about, and after two hours of reading about the people killed, arrested, convicted, he came across no mention of Bellatrix. He did find a quick mention that her husband was convicted and sentenced to life in Azkaban, though the crime was not given. And he found Lily and James Potter.

And even he had to admit, his resemblance to James from an old Quittich photo was striking. The same messy black hair, same build, even the same face. Except for his eyes, he reminded himself. He had his mother's eyes. They were his saving grace, his proof that Bellatrix was who she said she was. But any unbiased onlooker could see the resemblance. Could James Potter be his biological father? They had both been married at the time, though, and connected to opposite sides of a divisive war. The odds seemed slim.

He found their obituary, in an old newspaper dated fourteen years previous. They had both been killed by Voldemort, though their one-year-old son had survived. That would make their child, Harry Potter, fifteen, currently. There was something mysterious about the murders, though. They were the last ever to be committed by Voldemort before he disappeared. Something about the Potters had stopped him, and because the body of their son had never been found, the speculation centered around Harry Potter. He could understand why the Wizarding World wanted him to be that child, who had supposedly defeated this great wizard and then disappeared, a hero at the age of one. But no one had seen that boy in fourteen years; Harry Potter must be dead by now, and he was most certainly alive.

Harry nearly jumped when a pincher-like hand tapped him on the shoulder. The hand was attached to a rather severe looking woman with a scowl on her face.

"Young man, what are you doing in here? Who let you in? And," he heard a dramatic gasp, "_what have you done to these books_?" she asked shrilly, gesturing wildly at the strewn piles of books Harry had left littered about the floor in his focus to find mention of his mother.

Harry was at a loss for words. So instead, with a sweeping of his wand, righted the grievous wrong he had committed, and then, forcefully pointing his wand at the furious woman before him, commanded, "_Obliviate_!"

Harry dashed past the disoriented librarian and into the hallway before she could regain her senses, and hoping he remembered the way to the Great Hall, sprinted off in search of a late breakfast.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO OOOOOOOOOOOOOO

The rest of the weekend found Harry occupied again in the library, researching his murky past, this time with the help of the librarian, Madam Pince, who was of enormous help, despite their first encounter.

Although the fact that she didn't remember it may have contributed to that.

She brought him book after book on the rise of Voldemort, his tactics, allies, convicted Death Eaters. None of which were entirely useful, though they were interesting. Alternatively, he also returned to the Black family history and checked it out for a more thorough perusal later. He even found a few records of Bellatrix while she was at Hogwarts, awards won, even her class transcript.

But it was here that Madam Pince ran the course of her usefulness. The simple fact was that if the information he was seeking wasn't contained in a book, she couldn't help him find it. And the information he was looking for was most certainly not in any book, at least at Hogwarts. Perhaps that was the most useful thing he learned. He would need to talk to someone who had actually been there.

That night, Harry fell asleep with a renewed sense of determination to speak again with Snape, and convince him, through any means necessary, to tell him the truth about the woman he dearly hoped was his mother.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO OOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Snape, too, drifted into an uneasy sleep with much to think about. After a debilitating weekend locked in his dungeon, planning and scheming, he knew what he would have to do, and how dangerous this would be for them both. His plan required more luck than talent, but if everything lined up perfectly, well, just maybe he could save the life of a twisted, sadistic woman who would kill him without a second thought.

If that didn't make for a perfect weekend, he thought bitterly, he didn't know what would.

He would begin brewing the next morning.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO OOOOOOOOOOOOOO

_Through the oppressive darkness, only Lucius' face, covered in a sheen of sweat, was visible, contorting with rage at each screamed curse._

"_Crucio! Crucio!"_

_He could hear the jangling of chains, could sense the flailing of a body, but couldn't pinpoint a direction. It seemed Lucius was casting spells everywhere, jets of red and green whose brilliance couldn't penetrate the dense fog of his surroundings. Spell after spell, curse after curse, jangle after jangle. And then a sound that made the hair on the back of his neck stand up straight._

_Somewhere in the swirling darkness, Bellatrix finally screamed. _

Snape woke up in a cold sweat, still surrounded by complete darkness, though this darkness wasn't quite as heavy as that from his dream.

"It was just a dream," he thought furiously. "Only a dream."

But nonetheless, he stepped gingerly out of bed and, with a flick of his wand, ignited the cauldron in the corner of the room.

He would start brewing tonight.

**A/N Please R it motivations me to update faster!**


	19. Chapter 19

**A/N This chapter is dedicated to a close friend of mine who passed away on Thursday evening. This one's for you, Jen **

Harry blocked the jet of green light with a well-timed flick of his wand and wheeled around to face his attacker, only to find Neville Longbottom standing sheepishly behind him, directly in front of the pile of pillows he had clearly been aiming for. Harry thought he had never met a more uncoordinated person.

"I'm really sorry, Harry!" Neville apologized earnestly.

"It's fine, Neville. Just –here." Harry dodged his way between the jets of light being fired by his Charms classmates over to the red-faced boy. "Hold the wand like this. That way it won't slip so much, and your spell will be a bit more…on target." Neville glanced doubtfully at the pillows, a full 180 degrees from where Harry had been standing.

"I don't know Harry. I'm just not good with spells."

Harry refrained from rolling his eyes and instead took Neville's wand to demonstrate the correct casting technique. "Like this." Neville nodded and reclaimed his wand; waving it at the pillows and shouting the incantation, a jet of greet light soared directly at his desired target.

With a poof, the pillow exploded.

"Hey, Harry, did you see that? I hit them!"

"I saw, Neville," Harry replied, not quite able to suppress a smile at his enthusiasm. "Nice work."

Returning to his previous place, somewhat more confident that he would not be hit with a Tickling Charm at any moment, Harry relaxed and allowed his consciousness to expand to fill the room, just as his mother had taught him. He could sense Neville, practicing with his newly found skill at Tickling Charms, and Ron Weasley, who seemed to be aiming his charms slightly to the right so that they would conveniently hit Parvati Patil, though she didn't seem to mind the attention.

But in the corner of the room…something was off. Opening his eyes, Harry whirled around just in time to block a jinx that was most certainly not a Tickling Charm. The offender, a pale-haired boy with distinctly ferret-like features, looked taken aback, but recovered and plastered a smirk across his face instead.

"Well, well," he drawled. "Looks like Longbottom's new mate knows a simple shield charm."

Without even hesitating, Harry cast a jet of red at the boy, and unlike his own jinx, Harry's hit its mark. The pale boy's skin began to ripple menacingly, almost as though he were undergoing the beginning stages of the Polyjuice Potion, and then slowly turned an ugly shade of green reminiscent of vomit.

The boy looked at his forearms in horror.

It was just then that Professor Flitwick's rounds of the class took him past the dueling pair; taking one look at the situation, he shot Harry a reproachful glance and squeaked, "Headmaster's Office, now!"

Glad to be getting out of Charms class, Harry exited the classroom amid the stares of his classmates, and five minutes later, arrived in front of the stone eagle. Muttering the password, Harry stepped onto the spiraling staircase, and serenely waited for the corkscrewing stairs to stop at the small landing, determined that this visit would not end the same way as his last. This time, he would not allow the Headmaster to distort facts he knew to be true.

He knocked on the large wooden door for the second time that week, and after waiting a moment and receiving no response, pushed the door gently ajar and slipped through the open crack into the circular room.

Harry was somewhat surprised to find himself alone in the office. Taking a quick glance around him and thanking his lucky stars for this piece of good luck, he took three large strides over to the prominently placed desk, determined to make the most of this opportunity to learn more about Dumbledore. With a cursory glance over the barren surface, Harry busied himself looking through the few papers that littered its surface (personal correspondence with a Mrs. Arabella Figg and Mrs. Molly Weasley, and a formal inquiry into a new statute from the Department of Magical Transportation that could endanger low-flying Muggle airplanes), and futilely attempting to unlock the sealed drawers, which jangled promisingly when Harry rattled them, but did not yield to any spell he knew.

He sighed disappointedly.

Suddenly, he noticed a faint glow from a cabinet framed on both sides by two towers of books from the corner of his eye. Intrigued, Harry abandoned his fruitless search of the desk and carefully approached the almost-closed cabinet, which swung open easily at his touch to reveal a shimmering basin. A Pensive. Interesting.

Throwing caution to the wind, Harry plunged his face into the slimy substance, and felt himself falling down, down, down….

He landed safely in the seat of a desk inside a classroom surprisingly like the one he had exited earlier that morning. The door swung open to reveal a young Dumbledore.

"Seats, everyone," Dumbledore called out, sounding surprisingly similar to his wizened, present-day self. The sound of thirty chairs simultaneously scraping along the stone floor followed the command.

"Today we will be starting animal Transfiguration, turning a mouse into a rat."

A few groans.

"For you to be successful in this endeavor, you must remember the want motion we practiced last week, as well as the incantation – Ms. Black, do you have something to share with the class?" Thirty heads turned to the back of the class, where Harry was surprised to see a familiar-looking face glaring haughtily back. His mother.

He jumped up suddenly before remembering with a sinking of his stomach that it was only a memory. She couldn't see him.

"No, Professor," she replied, although her tone was somewhat sarcastic.

"Well, then, since you have so much to say, why don't you demonstrate for us how to properly Transfigure a mouse into a rat?" With a casual smirk, and a lazy flick of her wand, Bellatrix turned the mouse on Professor Dumbledore's desk into a perfect rat.

A smattering of applause followed from the students sitting nearest to her.

"5 points to Slytherin for an excellent display of nonverbal magic. And Bellatrix, I want to see you after class."

Where there had before been applause now came good-natured jeering. Bellatrix sat back in her chair with a rebellious kind of calm, but Harry could not help but feel proud of his mother.

The memory changed.

"Bellatrix, I'm telling you, that Lestrange guy is bad news."

"I don't recall asking your opinion, Snivellus," she snapped back. "And besides, these days half the school is saying that _I'm_ bad news."

"Half? Losing your touch, are you?"

Bellatrix shot a half-hearted jinx at the only other person seated in the Slytherin common room, a young Severus Snape. It seemed that Dumbledore had not been the only one to recently use this Pensive.

"I'm just saying," Snape continued. Harry leaned forward. Here was his proof that his mother had never wanted to be involved with Voldemort. "He's not as serious about it as the rest of us. If he can't hold up to the Dark Lord –"

"You shut your mouth."

"Oh, there's no one here!"

"No, about Rodolphus! He will be a loyal supporter of the Cause."

"He has no idea what he's getting into."

"You have no idea what you're getting into, Snape. One more word about my fiancée…"

"Maybe I should just continue this conversation with the Dark Lord," Snape goaded.

Bellatrix's wand was at his throat.

"You do that, and I'll make sure that that bitch mother of yours finds your body first. Cut up into tiny pieces."

Snape laughed humorlessly. "Just a wee bit defensive, I think." Bellatrix responded with a sharp jab to his neck.

"Ok, ok. Just don't say I didn't tell you so when he winds up in Azkaban."

"One more word. I swear. Just give me a reason, the Dark Lord will understand."

Snape stretched and lazily pushed Bellatrix's wand aside as he rose from his armchair.

"You know, as pleasant as these conversations with you always are, dear Bella, I really must be getting off to bed. Slughorn has a practical exam tomorrow, you know."

Bellatrix glared at the retreating figure until he disappeared through a stone archway and up the flight of stairs that undoubtedly led to the boys' dormitory.

The memory changed.

Harry found himself standing in what seemed to be a festively decorated pub, where Professor Dumbledore stood at the bar ordering a round of butterbeers. A group of laughing Hogwarts students walked in, his mother among them.

"Ms. Black!" Dumbledore called out pleasantly. Bellatrix looked up from her group, the smile slipping off her face when she saw who had called her, but she strode over to greet her professor.

"Merry Christmas, Professor," she said stiffly.

"Merry Christmas to you, as well. You seem to have wasted no time in enjoying your holiday." He nodded over to Bellatrix's friends, who had already found a table in the corner and were toasting butterbeer and firewhisky.

"Well, I'll let you get back to the celebration, but Ms. Black, you have my condolences for your loss." She looked at him blankly.

"Excuse me?"

"Your sister. Andromeda. I heard that she, well, forgive me, ran away."

Bellatrix's face contorted with fury. "I have only one sister, Professor. You must be mistaken."

"Ah, I see. My mistake, then."

Bellatrix quickly turned on her heel and returned to her group, leaving Dumbledore standing alone at the bar (except for Harry, of course), wearing a polite smile that was colored by just a shade of sadness.

The memory again changed.

Many masked men (one of whom must have been Snape), and probably a few women, stood in a circle around a tall, pale man, who more than slightly resembled the snake slithering around his bare feet. Harry shivered in revulsion.

"My Lord, it is time."

A faceless man stepped forward slightly to address the figure who could be none other than Lord Voldemort, and when he moved, Harry was able to see Bellatrix, the only Death Eater bold enough to flaunt her uncovered face. She stood with an almost arrogant grace, head craned to see something beyond the circle. Harry, too, struggled to see what they were assembled for that night.

A masked figure pushed two dirty children into the center of the circle, and Harry felt the bile rise in his throat. They couldn't have been older than eight.

"My Lord, these are the children of the new Head of Magical Law Enforcement."

"Very good, Avery." Voldemort motioned for him to resume his place in the circle. "Now, who would like to send a message to our friend Mr. Akerley?"

"I would be honored, my Lord."

Harry closed his eyes, not wanting to see her step forward from the circle, wand raised. The woman who had first taught him about Pensives. If only he could remember how to skip memories…. In desperation, he squeezed his eyes shut and muttered to himself, "Anywhere but here. Anywhere but here," and just as the first shout of "Crucio!" rang out through the circle, the memory changed.

Or it must have, because the next sound Harry heard wasn't the scream of little children, but rather the sound of a heated argument. He tentatively opened his eyes to see Snape sitting on a luxurious couch in need of a good dusting, and who else but his mother standing opposite him, her side heavily bandaged, gesturing wildly at the baby in his lap.

She cut off whatever he had been saying. "I am no coward—"

"You are a fool! The Aurors have orders to kill you on sight. You shall do your master no good dead. I cannot take the child. But you could. Just a month or two."

Bellatrix laughed cruelly, its harsh sound echoing in the drafty room. "If that's what all this is about, you can save your breath. Give it to my sister. Or to anyone else, for that matter."

"You know very well why Narcissa can't do this. Her house is being watched. And I think that you will. You see, I still have your wand. And I think you shall find it difficult to take care of yourself in that condition. I shall help you. Only if you keep Harry Potter alive."

Bellatrix emitted a noise somewhere between a growl and a hiss. "Goddamn it Snape, just heal me! I'll take care of the brat afterwards."

Harry felt like he had been punched in the gut. Harry Potter. So that meant that he was the son of James Potter. And his mother – Bellatrix – hadn't wanted him? Snape forced her to take care of him? But that was impossible.

The memory changed.

Snape walked through the front door to the same house as in the previous memory, and Harry walked in just behind him, jumping quickly out of the way as Snape slammed the door shut behind them, forgetting again that it was only a memory.

Suddenly, Harry felt Snape tense and draw his wand. Peering curiously forward through the gloom, Harry could see why; a hand that clearly belonged to his mother, covered in blood, lay pathetically just through the doorway, underneath a bloodstained handprint that vividly contrasted the intricate wallpaper. It was clearly a warning. Her attacker was still inside.

Snape had obviously come to the same conclusion. He edged around the open doorway, only to find a man whose own wand was pointed directly at his heart.

"Snape," the man said sharply.

"Yaxley."

"Is there anyone else living in this house that I should be aware of? Perhaps the Malfoys, as well? Draco, at least, would have a little friend to play with." The man called Yaxley gestured to a baby lying on the table behind him, playing with his feet. With a start, Harry realized that it was him, though there was something off. He couldn't pinpoint it.

Harry watched as Yaxley almost killed his mother, and as Snape saved her life. He watched her kill her would-be murderer, break Snape's arm, and leave him the note. And he watched as she scooped him up and walked confidently out the door, the beginning of the woman that had raised him.

Never before in his life had he felt so conflicted.

But as Harry rose from the Pensive with much to ponder, he had one final revelation. The difference was the eyes, he realized with a start. The baby in the memory had had the eyes of the woman from the obituary. The wife of James Potter. And most certainly not those of Bellatrix Black, or Lestrange.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO OOOOOOOOOOOOOO

A single crack rang out through the lukewarm Wales evening like a gunshot, and suddenly, a man wearing the most peculiar cloak appeared on the hillside, and promptly stumbled over a loose boulder.

A sheep bleated from a nearby grazing pasture.

The man gingerly picked his way over the hostile landscape and eventually succeeded in wading through the sea of rock to a narrow dirt path, no doubt used by herds of animals crossing the rocky hill.

A disgusted scowl written clearly on his face, the man began his steady trek upwards, picking up his feet with exaggerated motions to avoid the rather unfortunate piles of animal excrement littering the path.

Atop the hill, a medieval-looking castle twinkled menacingly in the dying light as crimson orange bled into stone towers.


	20. Chapter 20

By the time Snape reached the top of the hill, a deep purple had stolen over the landscape, and the monstrous silhouette of the castle loomed above him in the light of a nearly full moon. His ears strained against the darkness for any indication that he was in the right place, but the silent night betrayed no secrets. With a growing sense of foreboding, Snape strode forward across the expansive lawn and walked straight through the speciously solid double doors.

The shadowy entryway greeted him with a cold chill; something about the way the moonlight bounced off the gargoyle statue was distinctly off-putting. Other than the oddly placed likeness, though, the interior of the house was exactly what Snape had expected. Marble floors and grand banisters decorated the space with a kind of predictable garnish, and the dark foyer gave visitors the vivid impression that they were not welcome.

But Snape did not have a chance to linger long before a loud _crack_ behind him signaled the entry of the manor's house elf.

"Hello, good sir, my name is Jinky, and –" the elf managed to squeak out before he was smoothly cut off.

"I need to see a prisoner you have here. Bellatrix Lestrange."

"I-I'm sorry sir, that will not be possible."

Snape glared at the poor elf. "Why not?"

"Master has given instructions that –"

"Go find your master. Tell him that Severus Snape requires his company. Immediately."

"Of course, sir."

The elf Disapperated, leaving Snape again alone in the dark entryway. Hurriedly, Snape drew his wand and whispered, "_Homenum Revelio!"_

The spell revealed five humans in the near vicinity. Presumably, himself, Avery and his wife, and two others. There was a sixth heat signature, though, too large for a cat, too weak for a human. House-elves were protected from such spells by their own brand of magic. Unless… Merlin. Bellatrix. She must be dying.

But the echoing steps quickly approaching forced him to dissipate the spell with a wave of his wand, and Snape put away his wand just as Avery strode into the foyer.

Throwing his arms wide, Avery boomed, "Snape! Good to see you, old chap!" Snape could not ever remember being "chaps" with Avery, much less old ones, and hoped to Merlin that he didn't attempt to hug him.

"Avery," Snape greeted much more reservedly.

"What brings you to my humble abode?" Avery inquired jovially, closing the distance between them with a last few steps.

"This abode is anything but humble," Snape replied dryly. "But did the Dark Lord not tell you? I am here on official business. Bellatrix Lestrange."

Avery licked his lips nervously, and Snape glimpsed the man behind the mask. "No, He did not mention it."

"I'm sure he's very busy. After all, he has many matters to attend to."

"Yes, yes. Well, I'm afraid that your journey was in vain. It's true that we've had some trouble with her, but she won't last much longer. Lucius is with her now, and it's only a matter of time."

Snape fixed his face into an appropriately pleased expression. "That's – good news."

"Indeed. Would you care for a cup of tea before you take your leave? I regret your trouble into this matter."

"It is no trouble at all Avery. In fact," Snape drew his wand and watched Avery's mildly interested expression morph into shock as a jet of green hit him squarely in the chest, "you might even say that it is my pleasure."

With a quick "_Evanesco!" _to hide the body, Snape gingerly stepped over the place the dead man had previously lain and ventured into the manor's labyrinth. Snape muttered a series of incantations under his breath, and the heat signatures again appeared, their glow now illuminated through the stone walls, guiding him to his destination.

After many minutes in the expansive upper-level, Snape veered off of the main hallway he had been following and swept down a narrow flight of stone steps. Bracing himself against a cold draft as he reached the bottom, Snape was uncomfortably aware of how loudly his footsteps echoed in the barren space. Even as someone who spent the better part of his year residing in the Hogwarts dungeons, the dripping walls made him nervously hold his wand a little higher. Unsurprisingly, the dungeons were even more poorly lit than the upper level. It seemed the Avery family had some aversion to proper lighting, and the only sources of light were the torches lining the walls. Hesitant to reveal his position with a Lumos spell, he carefully felt his way into the pressing darkness.

Happily, though, the dungeon consisted of only one main passage, and several auxiliary ones lined with cells, though he didn't detect anyone behind the procession of doors as he continued through the passage. Bellatrix was the only prisoner being held here. Evidently she was still valuable to the Dark Lord. Or perhaps he merely still judged her to be dangerous.

After a minute or two he spotted a warm glow ahead, a rapidly growing pin prick in the distance. Yes, it was a man, a figure barely visible though the crowded shadows.

Suddenly he looked up.

"Who –?"

Snape fired several more curses, which his opponent easily avoided and responded to with his own barrage of spellwork.

The torch to Snape's left exploded, and he winced in spite of himself.

"_Petrificus Totalus!"_

"_Ava-"_

"_SECTUMSEMPARA!"_

Finally, Snape's spell hit its mark, and the man, now just ten feet away, collapsed in a pool of blood. Snape did not stop to see who exactly had been his second victim that night; instead, he moved deliberately forward, wand outstretched. Only one person stood in his way now. Snape just hoped that the Dark Lord hadn't chosen tonight to make a personal visit to his high-security prisoner.

Snape felt a shudder and passed through another invisible barrier. His Mark glowed white-hot for a blinding moment, and then faded back to its typical black, the dull ink throbbing slightly.

Suddenly, a bang echoed through the corridor, and Snape broke into a run, hoping there were no invisible defenses left, and passed the remaining two doors with immunity until he stood before the last door in the hallway. He gripped the handle and pulled as hard as he could, wrenching it open with a haste that did not befit his usually stoic demeanor. A pale face whirled to face him, and beyond him, a crumpled heap lay on the floor.

A panicked Lucius Malfoy stood before him, stammering, a sheen of sweat glistening on his forehead. "Severus! I didn't realize – well no matter. The prisoner will be around shortly. It seems we've had a bit of a, er, mishap, but if you wish to interrogate her, I can –" His speech was cut short by a forceful Disarming Spell, and Malfoy hit the stone wall hard, his entire body seeming to crumple into the stone. Snape caught his flying wand with one hand.

"Lucius, the only reason I don't kill you now is because I have no doubt that Bellatrix would sorely regret the missed opportunity to do it herself."

A groan sufficed as his response, and, not wasting another moment on the barely conscious Lucius, Snape swiftly strode to the other figure in the room, a prone body, face-down, with thick black hair camouflaged perfectly into the blackness of the cell.

He knelt down beside the figure, shaking her gently. "Bellatrix! We have to go!" he hissed. But he received no response. "For Merlin's sake. Bellatrix!" She did not move. Snape rolled her onto her back and faltered at the gaunt face buried beneath her tangled hair. Her eyes were closed, as though asleep, but she still had a pulse… "Bellatrix. You need to wake up now."

Snape could hear alarms in the distance. They had to leave. He levitated the unconscious woman as gently as he could, and gingerly navigated back out into the corridor, which now seemed very bright indeed. With a swoop of his wand, every torch in the passageway went out. Perhaps that would buy him a minute.

"_Homenum Revelio!" _he cast for the third time that evening. The spell revealed multiple people moving quickly toward the entrance to the stairway. Someone had alerted the other Death Eaters. He needed a second exit. Making sure his charge was safely out of the blast zone, he shouted, "_Reducto!"_

The ceiling overhead exploded, creating a hole just wide enough for a human person to enter through. Carefully hovering Bellatrix up and through the opening, he then scrambled up the debris himself.

No time to find his way back to the entrance. Instead, he again shouted, "_Reducto!", _causing half the outer wall to explode. Hastily following the same pattern as before, first gingerly levitating the unconscious Bellatrix outside, then stepping through the make-shift door, Snape found himself on one side of the large manor. Hoping very much that the group of armed and angry men hadn't yet found their exit, he cast a Repelling Charm on the gaping hole, along with a few less friendly curses.

Then, placing one hand on Bellatrix's shoulder, guided her down the rocky embankment, and into the night.


End file.
